#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Oh! could Le Sage’s demon’s gift Be realized at my desire, This night my trembling form he’d… To place it on St. Mary’s spire. Then would, unroof’d, old Granta’…
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…
Sons of the Greeks, arise! The glorious hour’s gone forth, And, worthy of such ties, Display who gave us birth. CHORUS.
ÃGLE, beauty and poet, has two l… She makes her own face, and does n…
Chill and mirk is the nightly blas… Where Pindus’ mountains rise, And angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies. Our guides are gone, our hope is l…
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…
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…
Thine eyes’ blue tenderness, thy l… And the wan lustre of thy features… From contemplation-where serenely… Seems Sorrow’s softness charm’d f… Have thrown such speaking sadness…
I now mean to be serious;—it is ti… Since laughter now-a-days is deem’… A jest at Vice by Virtue’s call’d… And critically held as deleterious… Besides, the sad’s a source of the…
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…
Who killed John Keats? “I,” says the Quarterly, So savage and Tartarly; “Twas one of my feats.” Who shot the arrow?
Written Under The Impression Tha… Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy Spread roses o’er my brow; Where Science seeks each loiterin… With knowledge to endow.
Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton’—… Sounds the heroic syllables both w… France could not even conquer your… But punn’d it down to this facetio… Beating or beaten she will laugh t…
THOUGH the day of my destiny’s… And the star of my fate hath decli… Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could fin… Though thy soul with my grief was…