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Seite 314 - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
Seite 12 - Osiris, took the virgin truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends of truth, such as durst appear, imitating the careful search that Isis made for the mangled body of Osiris, went up and down gathering up limb by limb still as they could find them.
Seite 314 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Seite 361 - I know that all the muse's heavenly lays, With toil of sprite which are so dearly bought, As idle sounds, of few or none are sought, That there is nothing lighter than mere praise.
Seite 314 - Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side? • There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast.— The desert and illimitable air,— Lone wandering, but not lost.
Seite 12 - Him were laid asleep, then straight arose a wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes of the Egyptian Typhon, i with his conspirators, how they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends of...
Seite 13 - To be still searching what we know not, by what we know, still closing up truth to truth as we find it (for all her body is homogeneal, and proportional) this is the golden rule in Theology as well as in Arithmetic, and makes up the best harmony in a church; not the forced and outward union of cold, and neutral, and inwardly divided minds.
Seite 364 - Since that dear voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, Is reft from earth to tune those spheres above, What art thou but a harbinger of woe? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, But orphans...
Seite 18 - Lords and Commons of England, consider what nation it is whereof ye are and whereof ye are the governors : a nation not slow and dull, but of a quick, ingenious, and piercing spirit, acute to invent, subtle and sinewy to discourse, not beneath the reach of any point the highest that human capacity can soar to.