Percy Bysshe Shelley as a Philosopher and ReformerC.P. Somerby, 1876 - 51 pages |
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Page 50
... heard His voice in all her music , from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known , In darkness and in light , from herb and stone , Spreading itself where'er that Power move , Which ...
... heard His voice in all her music , from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known , In darkness and in light , from herb and stone , Spreading itself where'er that Power move , Which ...
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admirable Alessandro di Cagliostro alogy AMERICAN BIBLIOPOLIST ancient atheism belief blood C. P. Somerby Catholic Catholic emancipation century Chaldea Charles Bradlaugh Charles Sotheran Charles Watts Christ Christian Church Calendar Cloth Comtism crime D. M. Bennett death diocese diocese of Manchester divine doctrines earth England English essay eternal faith father freedom future Genealogy genius Greek heart human immortality Impostor or Martyr interest Ireland Irish justice kings labor learned Liberal Christian liberty literary living Lord of Mitton Mac Manus members of Parliament mind moral nature Notes and Queries pamphlet pantheism paper Percy Bysshe Shelley Philosopher and Reformer poet political Postpaid present priests published Queen Mab race Religion Shelley's Side Stamp Somerby Sotheron-Estcourt soul spirit technical and irrelevant thee theological Theosophical Society thou thought tion tomb truth Tyndall tyranny tyrant verse wife writers York Liberal Club
Popular passages
Page 4 - Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present; the words which express what they understand not; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feel not what they inspire; the influence which is moved not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.
Page 50 - He is made one with Nature. There is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder to the song of night's sweet bird. He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone ; Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own, Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Page 51 - He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now — Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow...
Page 4 - ... the institutors of laws, and the founders of civil society, and the inventors of the arts of life, and the teachers, who draw into a certain propinquity with the beautiful and the true, that partial apprehension of the agencies of the invisible world which is called religion.
Page 51 - Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not sleep ! He hath awakened from the dream of life. 'Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings.
Page 3 - Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not...
Page 6 - I will be wise, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power, for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannise Without reproach or check.
Page 46 - A husband and wife ought to continue so long united as they love each other : any law which should bind them to cohabitation for one moment after the decay of their affection, would be a most intolerable tyranny, and the most unworthy of toleration.
Page 25 - Spirit of Nature ! here ! In this interminable wilderness Of worlds, at whose immensity Even soaring fancy staggers, Here is thy fitting temple. Yet not the lightest leaf That quivers to the passing breeze Is less instinct with thee : Yet not the meanest worm That lurks in graves and fattens on the dead Less shares thy eternal breath. Spirit of Nature ! thou ! Imperishable as this scene. Here is thy fitting temple.
Page 38 - Rise like Lions after slumber In unvanquishable number, Shake your chains to earth like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you Ye are many - they are few.