Selected Poems of Alexander Pope

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Heinemann, 1916 - English poetry - 146 pages
 

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Page 122 - What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heav'n pursue. What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives, To enjoy is to obey.
Page 22 - A perfect judge will read each work of wit With the same spirit that its author writ : Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Where Nature moves, and rapture warms the mind ; Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight, The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
Page 63 - Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind Sees GOD in clouds, or hears Him in the wind ; His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way...
Page 83 - 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 63 - Hope humbly then: with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that Hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never Is, but always To be blest: The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Page 123 - Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Page 29 - A heav'nly image in the glass appears, To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; Th' inferior Priestess, at her altar's side, Trembling begins the sacred rites of Pride. Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here The various...
Page 23 - Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
Page 134 - Of manners gentle, of affections mild ; In wit, a man ; simplicity, a child ; With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage, Form'd to delight at once and lash the age ; Above temptation, in a low estate ; And uncorrupted...
Page 39 - Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine,' The victor cried; 'the glorious prize is mine! While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, Or in a coach and six the British- fair, As long as Atalantis shall be read...

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