Alexander Pope

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Harper & brothers, 1880 - 209 pages

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Page 155 - Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent: Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
Page 60 - Peace to all such! But were there one whose fires True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires; Blest with each talent and each art to please. And born to write, converse, and live with ease: Should such a man, too fond to rule alone, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne; View him with scornful, yev with jealous eyes.
Page 26 - True wit is nature to advantage dress'd ; What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd ; Something, whose truth convinc'd at sight we find, That gives us back the image of our mind.
Page 80 - Me, let the tender office long engage, To rock the cradle of reposing age, With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death, Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep awhile one parent from the sky...
Page 173 - Blest paper-credit ! last and best supply ! That lends corruption lighter wings to fly. Gold imp'd by thee, can compass hardest things, Can pocket states, can fetch or carry kings ; A single leaf shall waft an army o'er, Or ship off senates to...
Page 99 - Ye gods, annihilate but space and time, And make two lovers happy!
Page 61 - Then he instructed a young nobleman, that the best poet in England was Mr. Pope (a Papist), who had begun a translation of Homer into English verse, for which he must have them all subscribe. "For," says he, "the author shall not begin to print till I have a thousand guineas for him.
Page 60 - Like Cato, give his little senate laws, And sit attentive to his own applause ; While wits and templars every sentence raise, And wonder with a foolish face of praise — Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he ? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals ? Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers...
Page 114 - Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more. Physic of metaphysic begs defence, And metaphysic calls for aid on sense ! See mystery to mathematics fly ! In vain ! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die.
Page 152 - Where slaves once more their native land behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. To Be, contents his natural desire, He asks no Angel's wing, no Seraph's fire; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.

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