James Thomson's "Seasons": eine genetische Stiluntersuchung

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Mayer & Müller, 1910 - 149 Seiten

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Seite 79 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state : From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Seite 102 - Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength. Thy sober autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?
Seite 76 - Ah little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; Ah little think they, while they dance along, How many feel, this very moment, death, And all the sad variety of pain.
Seite 53 - Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays...
Seite 21 - Hail, Source of Being ! Universal Soul Of Heaven and Earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts Continual climb ; who, with a master-hand, Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.
Seite 47 - And here a while the Muse, High hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene, Sees Caledonia, in romantic view : Her airy mountains, from the waving main, Invested with a keen diffusive sky, Breathing the soul acute ; her forests huge...
Seite 133 - For home he had not: home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace, and plenty, where, Supporting and supported, polish'd friends And dear relations mingle into bliss.
Seite 17 - Some say no evil thing that walks by night. In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, No goblin or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Seite 135 - Thought fond man Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life, One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think...
Seite 87 - Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms., And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful ! Horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man. See here thy pictured life, pass some few years ; Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, Thy sober Autumn fading into age, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.

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