#EnglishWriters #Romantic
My hair is grey, but not with year… Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fe… My limbs are bow’d, though not wit…
Young Oak! when I planted thee de… I hoped that thy days would be lon… That thy dark‑waving branches woul… And ivy thy trunk with its mantle… Such, such was my hope, when in in…
To hook the reader, you, John Mur… Have publish’d 'Anjou’s Margaret, Which won’t be sold off in a hurry (At least, it has not been as yet)… And then, still further to bewilde…
Here once engaged the stranger’s v… Young Friendship’s record simply… Few were her words; but yet, thoug… Resentment’s hand the line defaced… Deeply she cut—but not erased,
Away, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing stra… Or I must flee from hence—for, oh… I dare not trust those sounds agai… To me they speak of brighter days
When I roved a young Highlander o… And climb’d thy steep sumrnit, oh… To gaze on the torrent that thunde… Or the mist of the tempest that ga… Untutor’d by science, a stranger t…
In this beloved marble view, Above the works and thoughts of ma… What Nature could, but would not,… And Beauty and Canova can! Beyond imagination’s power,
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could se… Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach’d thee from my breast for e… True, she has forced thee from my…
'Tis known, at least it should be,… All countries of the Catholic per… Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday… The People take their fill of rec… And buy repentance, ere they grow…
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fi… A million scarce would quench desi… Still would I steep my lips in bl… And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be,
Dear object of defeated care! Though now of Love and thee beref… To reconcile me with despair, Thing image and any tears are left… 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can co…
To sit on rocks, to muse o’er floo… To slowly trace the forest’s shady… Where things that own not man’s do… And mortal foot hath ne’er or rare… To climb the trackless mountain al…
Oh! snatched away in beauty’s bloo… On thee shall press no ponderous t… But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of ' th… And the wild cypress wave in tende…
Francisca walks in the shadow of n… But it is not to gaze on the heave… But if she sits in her garden bowe… 'Tis not for the sake of its blowi… She listens– but not for the night…
When a man hath no freedom to figh… Let him combat for that of his nei… Let him think of the glories of G… And get knock’d on the head for hi… To do good to mankind is the chiva…