#EnglishWriters #Romantic
There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society, where none intru… By the deep sea, and music in its… I love not man the less, but Natu…
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo’s off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o’er the mast. From aloft the signal’s streaming,
Spot of my youth! whose hoary bran… Swept by the breeze that fans thy… Where now alone I muse, who oft h… With those I loved, thy soft and… With those who, scattered far, per…
‘But if any old lady, knight, prie… Should condemn me for printing a s… If good Madam Squintum my work sh… May I venture to give her a smack… CANDOUR compels me, BECHER!…
‘It is the voice of years that are… they roll before me with all their… Newstead! fast-falling, once-respl… Religion’s shrine! repentant HE… Of warriors, monks, and dames the…
She walks in beauty, like the nigh… Of cloudless climes and starry ski… And all that’s best of dark and br… Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shin… On earth thou wert all but divine,
Fare thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared befor…
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…
Through thy battlements, Newstead… Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art… In thy once smiling garden, the he… Have choak’d up the rose, which la… Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who,…
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were… And health and youth possess’d me; My goblets blush’d from every vine… And lovely forms caress’d me; I sunn’d my heart in beauty’s eyes…
The King was on his throne, The Satraps throng’d the hall: A thousand bright lamps shone O’er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold,
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Nothing so difficult as a beginnin… In poesy, unless perhaps the end; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems… The race, he sprains a wing, and d… Like Lucifer when hurl’d from hea…
Remind me not, remind me not, Of those beloved, those vanish’d h… When all my soul was given to thee… Hours that may never be forgot, Till Time unnerves our vital powe…