#EnglishWriters #Romantic
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Dorset! whose early steps with min… Exploring every path of Ida’s gla… Whom still affection taught me to… And made me less a tyrant than a f… Though the harsh custom of our you…
Her eye (I’m very fond of handsom… Was large and dark, suppressing ha… Until she spoke, then through its… Flash’d an expression more of prid… And love than either; and there wo…
When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shootin…
Sweet girl! though only once we me… That meeting I shall ne’er forget… And though we ne’er may meet again… Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, ‘I love,’ but st…
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of… Bright as thy mother’s in their hu… Those rosy lips, whose dimples pla… And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy,
‘There is a tide in the affairs of… Which,—taken at the flood,’—you kn… And most of us have found it now a… At least we think so, though but f… The moment, till too late to come…
‘And Ireland, like a bastinadoed… kneeling to receive the paltry rid… Ere the daughter of Brunswick is… And her ashes still float to their… Lo! George the triumphant speeds…
Father of Light! great God of He… Hear’st thou the accents of despai… Can guilt like man’s be e’er forgi… Can vice atone for crimes by praye… Father of Light, on thee I call!
Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were——unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
‘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… ANSWER TO THE FOREGO…
For Oxford and for Waldegrave You give much more than me you gav… Which is not fairly to behave, My Murray. Because if a live dog, 'tis said,
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…
I want a hero: an uncommon want, When every year and month sends fo… Till, after cloying the gazettes w… The age discovers he is not the tr… Of such as these I should not car…
When Dryden’s fool, ‘unknowing wh… His hours in whistling spent, ‘for… This guiltless oaf his vacancy of… Supplied, and amply too, by innoce… Did modern swains, possess’d of C…