Search

Search results

Contemplative, Alexander Pope, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Mr Elijah Fenton, at Easthamstead, in Berks, 1730.

This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learnèd ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Mrs Corbet, Who Died of a Cancer in Her Breast.

Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense: No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired, No arts essay'd, but not to be admired. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinced that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so composed a mind; So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined; Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried; The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

The Garden.

IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. COWLEY Fain would my Muse the flowery treasures sing, And humble glories of the youthful Spring; Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse, And soft carnations shower their balmy dews; Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white, The thin undress of superficial light, And varied tulips show so dazzling gay, Blushing in bright diversities of day. Each painted floweret in the lake below Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; And pale Narcissus on the bank, in vain Transformèd, gazes on himself again. Here aged trees cathedral walks compose, And mount the hill in venerable rows: There the green infants in their beds are laid,
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Ode on Solitude.

Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day; Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Together mix'd; sweet recreation; And innocence, which most does please, With meditation.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. Intended for Mr Rowe, in Westminster Abbey.

Thy relics, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust, And sacred place by Dryden's awful dust: Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies, To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes. Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest! Blest in thy genius, in thy love, too, blest! One grateful woman to thy fame supplies What a whole thankless land to his denies.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Sir William Trumbull.

A pleasing form; a firm, yet cautious mind; Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd: Honour unchanged, a principle profess'd, Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest: An honest courtier, yet a patriot too; Just to his prince, and to his country true: Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth, A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth; A generous faith, from superstition free: A love to peace, and hate of tyranny; Such this man was; who now, from earth removed, At length enjoys that liberty he loved.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on the Monument of the Honourable Egbert Digby, and His Sister

MARY. ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER THE LORD DIGBY, IN THE CHURCH OF SHERBORNE, IN DORSETSHIRE, 1727. Go! fair example of untainted youth, Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth: Composed in sufferings, and in joy sedate, Good without noise, without pretension great. Just of thy word, in every thought sincere, Who knew no wish but what the world might hear: Of softest manners, unaffected mind, Lover of peace, and friend of human kind: Go live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine, Go, and exalt thy moral to divine. And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom, Pensive hast follow'd to the silent tomb, Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore,
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. on Sir Godfrey Kneller, in Westminster Abbey, 1723.

Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays, Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise. Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.
ContemplativeAlexander Pope

Epitaph. Another, on the Same.

Under this marble, or under this sill, Or under this turf, or e'en what they will; Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lies one who ne'er cared, and still cares not a pin What they said, or may say, of the mortal within: But who, living and dying, serene still and free, Trusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be.

Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem

Or try: