(Written in the last reign.)
#EnglishWriters
An infant is a selfish sprite; But what of that? the sweet deligh… Which from participation springs, Is quite unknown to these young th… We elder children then will smile
A dinner party, coffee, tea, Sandwich, or supper, all may be In their way pleasant. But to me Not one of these deserves the prai… That welcomer of new—born days,
Queen—bird, that sittest on thy sh… And thy young cygnets without sorr… And thou, thou other royal bird, t… Lest the white mother wandering fe… Shrined are your offspring in a cr…
I HAVE had playmates, I have ha… In my days of childhood, in my joy… All, all are gone, the old familia… I have been laughing, I have been… Drinking late, sitting late, with…
In a costly palace Youth goes cla… In a wretched workhouse Age’s lim… There they sit, the old men by a s… Still close and closer cowering, w… In a costly palace, when the brave…
In your garb and outward clothing A reservëd plainness use; By their neatness more distinguish… Than the brightness of their hues. All the colours in the rainbow
A Creole boy from the West Indie… To be in European learning taught… Some years before to Westminster… To a preparatory school was sent. When from his artless tale the mis…
Come, my little Robert, near— Fie! what filthy hands are here— Who that e’er could understand The rare structure of a hand, With its branching fingers fine,
As when a child on some long winte… Affrighted clinging to its Granda… With eager wond’ring and perturbed… Listens strange tales of fearful d… Muttered to wretch by necromantic…
JANE. Miss Lydia every day is drest Better than I am in my best White cambric—muslin frock. I wish I had one made of clear
Shut these odious books up, brothe… They have made you quite another Thing from what you used to be: Once you liked to play with me, Now you leave me all alone,
Come my little Robert near— Fie! what filthy hands are here! Who that e’er could understand The rare structure of a hand, With its branching fingers fine,
May the Babylonish curse, Strait confound my stammering vers… If I can a passage see In this word—perplexity, Or a fit expression find,
This picture does the story expres… Of Moses in the bulrushes. How livelily the painter’s hand By colours makes us understand! Moses that little infant is.
Mystery of God! thou brave & beau… Made fair with light, & shade, & s… Made fearful and august with woods… Jagg’d precipice, black mountain,… Sun, over all—that no co—rival own…