#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go,
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…
Our life is twofold; Sleep hath i… A boundary between the things misn… Death and existence: Sleep hath i… And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development ha…
These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense, love or… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…
Oh how I wish that an embargo Had kept in port the good ship Ar… Who, still unlaunch’d from Grecia… Had never pass’d the Azure rocks; But now I fear her trip will be a
It is the hour when from the bough… The nightingale’s high note is hea… It is the hour when lovers’ vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word… And gentle winds, and waters near,
Strahan, Tonson Lintot of the tim… Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climb… My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb…
There is a tear for all that die, A mourner o’er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And Triumph weeps above the brave… For them is Sorrow’s purest sigh
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…
Oh! my lonely—lonely—lonely—Pillo… Where is my lover? where is my lov… Is it his bark which my dreary dre… Far—far away! and alone along the… Oh! my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pill…
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s… And slavery half forgets her feuda… He, their unhoped, but unforgotten… The long self-exiled chieftain is… There be bright faces in the busy…
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…
As o’er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer-by; Thus, when thou view’st this page… May mine attract thy pensive eye! And when by thee that name is read…
Posterity will ne’er survey A nobler grave than this: Here lie the bones of Castlereagh… Stop, traveler—
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…