Nature's Simple Plan: A Phase of Radical Thought in the Mid-eighteenth Century

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Princeton University Press, 1922 - 117 pages
 

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Page 57 - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Page 64 - Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves.
Page 93 - Poems ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS, written by STEPHEN DUCK, LATELY A POOR THRESHER IN A BARN IN THE COUNTY OF WILTS, at the Wages of Four Shillings and Sixpence per week...
Page 78 - Sir, he had passed his time, while in England, only in the best company ; so that all that he had acquired of our manners was genteel. As a proof of this, Sir, Lord Mulgrave and he dined one day at Streatham ; they sat with their backs to the light fronting me, so that I could not see distinctly; and there was so little of the savage in Omai, that I was afraid to speak to either, lest I should mistake one for the other.
Page 88 - The dream is past; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou found Their former charms? And, having seen our state, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, And heard our music; are thy simple friends Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, As dear to thee as once?
Page 4 - Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime ; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; Teach him, that states of native strength...
Page 68 - Mona on Snowdon calls : Hear, thou king of mountains, hear ; Hark, she speaks from all her strings ; Hark, her loudest echo rings ; King of mountains, bend thine ear : Send thy spirits, send them soon, Now, when midnight and the moon , Meet upon thy front of snow : See, their gold and ebon rod, Where the sober sisters nod, And greet in whispers sage and slow.
Page 82 - Nothing can be more curious or less pleasing than his singing voice; he seems to have none; and tune or air hardly seem to be aimed at; so queer, wild, strange a rumbling of sounds never did I before hear ; and very contentedly can I go to the grave, if I never do again. His song is the only thing that is savage belonging to him.
Page 63 - Ah! could they catch his strength, his easy grace, His quick creation, his unerring line; The energy of Pope they might efface, And Dryden's harmony submit to mine. But not to one in this benighted age; Is that diviner inspiration giv'n, That burns in Shakespeare's or in Milton's page, The pomp and prodigality of heav'n.
Page 59 - Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.

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