#EnglishWriters #Romantic
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,
When Bishop Berkeley said “there… And proved it—'twas no matter what… They say his system 'tis in vain t… Too subtle for the airiest human h… And yet who can believe it! I wou…
There be none of Beauty’s daughte… With a magic like Thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing
Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the ti… Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climb… My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb…
I Read the 'Christabel’; Very well: I read the Missionary’; Pretty - very I tried at Ilderim ;
Absent or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belon… As all can tell, who share, like m… In turn thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall co…
WHERE are those honours, Ida! o… When Probus fill’d your magisteri… As ancient Rome, fast falling to… Hail’d a barbarian in her Cæsar’s… So you, degenerate, share as hard…
What matter the pangs of a husband… If his sorrows in exile be great o… So the Pharisee’s glories around… And the saint patronizes her ‘char… What matters—a heart which, though…
CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society where none intrud… By the deep Sea, and music in its…
Eliza, what fools are the Mussulm… Who to woman deny the soul’s futur… Could they see thee, Eliza, they’… And this doctrine would meet with… Had their prophet possess’d half a…
When some proud son of man returns… Unknown to glory, but upheld by bi… The sculptor’s art exhausts the po… And storied urns record who rest b… When all is done, upon the tomb is…
The Son of Love and Lord of War… Him who bade England bow to Norma… And left the name of conqueror mor… To his unconquerable dynasty. Not fann’d alone by Victory’s fle…
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 digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Hail, Muse! et cetera.—We left J… Pillow’d upon a fair and happy bre… And watch’d by eyes that never yet… And loved by a young heart, too de… To feel the poison through her spi…