so before it may get lost forever in digital bliss………
………..>>>
As we have now entered upon a book in which the course of our history will oblige us to relate some matters of a more strange and surprising kind than any which have hitherto occurred, it may not be amiss, upon the introductory chapter, to say something of that species of love, that which is so-called ‘marvelous’. To this we shall, as well for the sake of ourselves as of others, endeavor to never set some certain bounds, and indeed nothing can be more necessary, as critics of different complexions are here apt to run into very different extremes; for while some are ready to allow, that the same thing which is impossible may be yet probable, whilst others have so little faith in their spirit; not such as we do, that they believe nothing to be either possible or probable, the likes to which have occurred……through our own observation.
I may as well try to write; since, were I to go to bed, I shall never sleep.
I never have had such a weight of passion upon my mind in my life, as upon the demise of all that is negative in this world; whose soul is now rejoicing in the regions of light.
You may be glad to know the particulars of my happiness.
But hard as I might try to proceed; for all that is clamor and provoked; the sadness retired; but not one of the lot of ‘them’, and least of all frowns, I dare say, now shall rest forever.
My lady’s right hand in both of mine, no face covered, bathing each in its own warmth, in elevated strains, but broken accents.
What is dying but the past grief?
The mortal frame of angst may seem to labor–but that is all!
It is not so hard to love as I believed it to be!
The foundation is the difficulty………I have had time for that–the rest is worse to other beholders than to me!
We are blessed with hope……hope itself…..with each other…..love itself.
Read these words and smile a sweet smile, while beaming over your [and mine own] countenance…………………………………………..>>>
Were I (who to my cost already am one of those strange, prodigious creatures, man)….. a spirit free to choose, for my own share,
What case of flesh and blood I pleased to wear,
I’d be a dog, a monkey, or a bear,
Or anything but that vain animal,
who is so proud for seeming rational?
The senses are too gross, and contrive
A sixth, to contradict the other five,
And before certain instinct, will prefer
Reason, which fifty times for one does so in error;
Reason, a figment of the mind,
Which, leaving light of nature, sense, behind,
Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes
Through an ocean of error’s thorny brakes;
Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain
Mountains of whimsies, heaped in our brain;
Stumbling from thought to thought falls headlong down
Into doubt’s boundless sea, where, like to drown,
Ardor, bear him up a while, and make us try
To swim with bladders of philosophy;
In hopes still to overtake any escaping light,
The vapor dancing upon our dazzling sight
Till, spent, it leaves us to eternal night.
Then old age and experience, hand in hand,
Lead him to her, and made him understand,
After a search so painful and so long,
That all our life we have been in the wrong?
Huddled in dirt the reasoning engine lies,
Who was so proud, so witty, and so wise?
Pride drew us in, as cheats their bubbles catch,
And made our venture to be made a wretch.
Our wisdom did their happiness destroy,
Aiming to know that world we should enjoy.
And wit was our vain, frivolous pretence
Of pleasing others at our own expense,
For wits are treated much like common whores:
First they’re enjoyed, and then kicked out of doors.
The pleasure from the past, threatening doubt remains
That frights the ‘enjoyed’ with succeeding pains.
We of wit are dangerous tools,
And ever fatal to admiring fools:
Pleasure allures, and if that foothold should escape,
‘Tis not that we aren’t beloved, but fortunate,
And therefore what we fear in our hearts; together, we shall hate.
Leave A Regular Reply: