The Poetical Works of Churchill, Parnell, and Tickell: With a Life of Each ...

Houghton, Mifflin, 1880
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Page 202 - God loves from whole to parts: but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next; and next all human race...
Page 73 - Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. The busy sylphs surround their darling care...
Page 315 - Let humble Allen, with an awkward shame, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Page 122 - I hear a voice, you cannot hear, " Which says, I must not stay; " I see a hand, you cannot see,
Page 120 - Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong, Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song : There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, A candid censor, and a friend severe ; There taught us how to live ; and (oh ! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die.
Page 205 - But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, Contracting regal power to stretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, Laws grind the poor^ and rich men rule the law...
Page 8 - I assured him that I did not at all take it ill of Mr. Tickell that he was going to publish his translation; that he certainly had as much right to translate any author as myself; and that publishing both was entering on a fair stage.
Page 120 - O'er my dim eyeballs glance- the sudden tears ! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air ! ' How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, Thy noontide shadow and thy evening breeze ! His image thy forsaken bowers restore ; Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more ; No more the summer in thy glooms allay'd, Thy evening breezes, and thy noonday shade.
Page 118 - To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine ; Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
Page 98 - Go rule thy will, Bid thy wild passions all be still, Know God — and bring thy heart to know The joys which from religion flow : Then every Grace shall prove its guest, And I'll be there to crown the rest.

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