#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country’s strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughter of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he wo…
There is a mystic thread of life So dearly wreath’d with mine alone… That Destiny’s relentless knife At once must sever both, or none. There is a Form on which these ey…
'I had rather be a kitten, and cry… Than one of these same metre balla… ‘Such shameless bards we have; and… There are as mad, abandon’d critic… Still must I hear?—shall hoarse F…
One struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in t… One last long sigh to love and the… Then back to busy life again. It suits me well to mingle now
‘It is the voice of years that are… they roll before me with all their… Newstead! fast-falling, once-respl… Religion’s shrine! repentant HE… Of warriors, monks, and dames the…
When some proud son of man returns… Unknown to glory, but upheld by bi… The sculptor’s art exhausts the po… And storied urns record who rest b… When all is done, upon the tomb is…
They say that Hope is happiness; But genuine Love must prize the p… And Memory wakes the thoughts tha… They rose the first—they set the l… And all that Memory loves the mos…
Farewell to the Land where the gl… Arose and o’ershadow’d the earth w… She abandons me now—but the page o… The brightest or blackest, is fill… I have warr’d with a world which v…
Thou Power! who hast ruled me thr… Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis ti… Then rise on the gale this the las… The coldest effusion which springs… This bosom, responsive to rapture…
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…
This faint resemblance of thy char… (Though strong as mortal art could… My constant heart of fear disarms, Revives my hopes, and bids me live… Here, I can trace the locks of go…
I Read the 'Christabel’; Very well: I read the Missionary’; Pretty - very I tried at Ilderim ;
Here’s a happy new year! but with… I beg you’ll permit me to say Wish me many returns of the season… But as few as you please of the dy… January 2, 1820.
‘Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus… Dear Long, in this sequester’d sc… While all around in slumber lie, The joyous days, which ours have b… Come rolling fresh on Fancy’s eye…
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marbl… Are level with the waters, there s… A cry of nations o’er thy sunken h… A loud lament along the sweeping s… If I, a northern wanderer, weep f…
