#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Saint Peter sat by the celestial… His keys were rusty, and the lock… So little trouble had been given o… Not that the place by any means wa… But since the Gallic era 'eight-e…
Sermons he read, and lectures he e… And homilies, and lives of all the… To Jerome and to Chrysostom inure… He did not take such studies for r… But how faith is acquired, and the…
The wild gazelle on Judah’s hills… Exulting yet may bound, And drink from all the living rill… That gush on holy ground: Its airy step and glorious eye
Once fairly set out on his party o… Taking towns at his liking, and cr… From Elba to Lyons and Paris he… Making balls for the ladies, and b…
The Moorish King rides up and dow… Through Granada’s royal town; From Elvira’s gate to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama!
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…
My soul is dark - Oh! quickly str… The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,
I had a dream, which was not all a… The bright sun was extinguish’d, a… Did wander darkling in the eternal… Rayless, and pathless, and the icy… Swung blind and blackening in the…
WRITTEN IN 'LETTERS O… ‘Away, away, your fleeting arts May now betray some simpler hearts… And you will smile at their believ… And they shall weep at your deceiv…
ETERNAL SPIRIT of the chain… Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, t… For there thy habitation is the he… The heart which love of Thee alon… And when thy sons to fetters are c…
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…
The ‘Origin of Love!’—Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may’st read in many an e… He starts to life on seeing thee? And should’st thou seek his end to…
Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time’s endeavour Be tried in vain No other pleasure
This Band, which bound thy yellow… Is mine, sweet girl! Thy pledge o… It claims my warmest, dearest care… Like relics left of saints above. Oh! I will wear it next my heart;
'Twas now the hour when Night had… Her car half round yon sable heave… Boötes, only, seem’d to roll His arctic charge around the pole; While mortals, lost in gentle slee…