#EnglishWriters #Romantic
In the valley of the waters we wep… When the host of the stranger made… And our heads on our bosoms all dr… And our hearts were so full of the… The song they demanded in vain—it…
‘Hic est, quem legis, ille, quern… He unto whom thou art so partial, Oh, reader is the well-known Mart… The Epigrammatist: while living, Give him the fame thou wouldst be…
Oh you, who in all names can tickl… Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore,… For hang me if I know of which yo… Your Quarto two-pounds, or your T… But now to my letter-to yours 'tis…
When Time, or soon or late, shall… The dreamless sleep that lulls the… Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o’er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be the…
When coldness wraps this suffering… Ah! whither strays the immortal mi… It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darken’d dust behin… Then, unembodied, doth it trace
On Jordan’s banks the Arab’s came… On Sion’s hill the False One’s v… The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai’s s… Yet there– even there– Oh God! th… There - where thy finger scorch’d…
No breath of air to break the wave That rolls below the Athenian’s g… That tomb which, gleaming o’er the… First greets the homeward-veering… High o’er the land he saved in vai…
When Friendship or Love Our sympathies move; When Truth, in a glance, should a… The lips may beguile, With a dimple or smile,
The spell is broke; the charm is f… Thus is it with life’s fitful feve… We madly smile when we should groa… Delirium is our best deceiver. Each lucid interval of thought
How pleasant were the songs of To… When Summer’s Sun went down the c… Come, let us to the islet’s softes… And hear the warbling birds I the… The wood-dove from the forest dept…
Dear Doctor, I have read your pla… Which is a good one in its way, Purges the eyes and moves the bowe… And drenches handkerchiefs like to… With tears, that, in a flux of gri…
Famed for contemptuous breach of s… By headless Charles see heartless… Between them stands another sceptr… It moves, it reigns—in all but nam… Charles to his people, Henry to h…
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…
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…
So, we’ll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as lovin… And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath,