La Thēbaïde en Amérique, ou Apologie de la vie solitaire et contemplative

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Imprimerie Méridier, 1852 - Всего страниц: 144

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Стр. 76 - Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil In the hot throng, where we become the spoil Of our infection, till too late and long We may deplore and struggle with the coil, In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong 'Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong. LXX. There, in a moment, we may plunge our years In fatal penitence, and in the blight Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come with hues of Night...
Стр. 28 - But when lust, By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, Lets in defilement to the inward parts, The soul grows clotted by contagion, Imbodies and imbrutes, till she quite lose The divine property of her first being. Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres, Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave, As loth to leave the body that it loved, And linked itself by carnal sensuality To a degenerate and degraded...
Стр. 28 - A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt; And, in clear dream and solemn vision Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear ; Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind, And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, Till all be made immortal...
Стр. 28 - So dear to Heaven is saintly Chastity, That, when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried angels lackey her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt ; And, in clear dream and solemn vision, Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear...
Стр. 28 - How charming is divine Philosophy! Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets, Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Стр. 48 - Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, Unnoticed and alone, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity, in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And hardens her to bear Serene the ills...
Стр. 127 - How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity...
Стр. 28 - 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 curfeu time, No goblin, or swart faery of the mine, Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity.
Стр. 11 - En voyant l'aveuglement et la misère de l'homme, en regardant tout l'univers muet, et l'homme sans lumière, abandonné à luimême, et comme égaré dans ce recoin de l'univers, sans savoir qui l'ya mis, ce qu'il y est venu faire, ce qu'il deviendra en mourant...
Стр. 115 - Perd-on un appui quand on jette un roseau fêlé, qui, loin de nous soutenir, nous percerait la main si nous voulions nous y appuyer? Faut-il bien du courage pour s'enfuir d'une maison qui tombe en ruine, et qui nous écraserait dans sa chute? Que quitte-t-on donc en quittant le monde ? Ce que quitte celui qui , à son réveil, sort d'un songe plein d'inquiétude.

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