#EnglishWriters #Romantic
The town was taken—whether he migh… Himself or bastion, little matter’… His stubborn valour was no future… Ismail’s no more! The Crescent’s… Sunk, and the crimson Cross glar’…
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,
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…
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…
‘Tis time the heart should be unmo… Since others it hath ceased to mov… Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf;
It is the hour when from the bough… The nightingale’s high note is hea… It is the hour—when lover’s vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word… And gentle winds and waters near,
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…
'Tis done——and shivering in the ga… The bark unfurls her snowy sail; And whistling o’er the bending mas… Loud sings on high the fresh’ning… And I must from this land be gone…
Why, Pigot, complain of this dams… Why thus in despair do you fret? For months you may try, yet, belie… Will never obtain a coquette. Would you teach her to love? for a…
In this book a traveller had writt… ‘Fair Albion, smiling, sees her s… To trace the birth and nursery of… Noble his object, glorious is his… He comes to Athens, and he writes…
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…
But first, on earth as vampire sen… Thy corse shall from its tomb be r… Then ghastly haunt thy native plac… And suck the blood of all thy race… There from thy daughter, sister, w…
Your pardon, my friend, if my rhym… Your pardon, a thousand times o’er… From friendship I strove your pan… But, I swear, I will do so no mor… Since your beautiful maid your fla…
Woman! experience might have told… That all must love thee who behold… Surely experience might have taugh… Thy firmest promises are nought: But, placed in all thy charms befo…
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,