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Page 120 - ... to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain; to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries.
Page 262 - In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean deep, may count The sands or the sun's rays : but, God, for thee There is no weight nor measure ; none can mount Up to thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark, Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity.
Page 182 - Dryden knew more of man in his general nature, and Pope in his local manners.
Page 182 - Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that quality without which judgment is cold and knowledge is inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates, the superiority must with some hesitation be allowed to Dryden.
Page 262 - A million torches lighted by thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : They own thy power, accomplish thy command. All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light— A glorious company of golden streams — Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright — Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ? But thou to these art as the noon to night.
Page 118 - I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine...
Page 182 - Pope had only a little, because Dryden had more : for every other writer since Milton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it must be said, that, if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems.
Page 182 - For this reason he kept his pieces very long in his hands, while he considered and reconsidered them. The only poems which can be supposed to have been written with such regard to the times as might hasten their publication, were the two satires of ' Thirty- eight ; ' of which Dodsley told me, that they were brought to him by the author, that they might be fairly copied.