Satires; and The Beggar's Coin, a Poem

Hurst, Chance, and Company, 1831 - 174 pages

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Page 155 - Some kinder casuists are pleased to say In nameless print — that I have no devotion ; But set those persons down with me to pray, And you shall see who has the properest notion Of getting into heaven the shortest way : My altars are the mountains and the ocean, Earth, air, stars — all that springs from the great Whole, Who hath produced, and will receive the soul.
Page 151 - Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; And why? It is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow.
Page 158 - She gazed upon a World she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone. There was awe in the homage which she drew ; Her Spirit seemed as seated on a throne Apart from the surrounding world, and strong In its own strength — most strange in one so young ! XLVIII.
Page 150 - And when, at length, the mind shall be all free From what it hates in this degraded form, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly and worm, When Elements to Elements conform. And dust is as it should be, shall I not Feel all I see less dazzling but more warm ? The bodiless thought? the Spirit of each spot? Of which, even now, I share at times the immortal lot ? LXXV.
Page 150 - Yet if, as holiest men have deemed, there be A land of souls beyond that sable shore, To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore...
Page 157 - Early in years, and yet more infantine In figure, she had something of sublime In eyes which sadly shone, as seraphs' shine. All youth — but with an aspect beyond time; Radiant and grave — as pitying man's decline ; Mournful — but mournful of another's crime, She look'd as if she sat by Eden's door, And grieved for those who could return no more.
Page 156 - But these are foolish things to all the wise, And I love wisdom more than she loves me ; My tendency is to philosophise On most things, from a tyrant to a tree ; But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies. What are we ? and whence came we ? what shall be Our ultimate existence ? what's our present ? Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.
Page 157 - She made the earth below seem holy ground. This may be superstition, weak or wild, But even the faintest relics of a shrine Of any worship wake some thoughts divine.
Page 159 - Between two worlds life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are ! How less what we may be...
Page 155 - Ave, Maria ; blessed be the hour, The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower, Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet, the forest leaves seemed stirred with prayer.

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