#EnglishWriters
Give me a cottage on some Cambria… Where, far from cities, I may spe… And, by the beauties of the scene… May pity man’s pursuits, and shun… While on the rock I mark the brow…
Thee do I own, the prompter of my… The soother of my cares, inspiring… And I will ne’er forsake thee. Me… And blame and censure me, that I… My every thought down to the desk,…
He sunk, the impetuous river roll’… The sullen wave betray’d his dying… And rising sad the rustling sedge… The gale of evening touch’d the co… Nymph of the Trent! why didst tho…
Misfortune, I am young, my chin i… And I have wondered much when men… How youth was free from sorrow and… That thou shouldst dwell with me a… Sure dost not like me!-Shrivelled…
Once more, O Trent! along thy peb… A pensive invalid, reduced and pal… From the close sick-room newly let… Wooes to his wan-worn cheek the pl… O! to his ear how musical the tale
Here would I wish to sleep. This… Which I have long mark’d out to l… Tired out and wearied with the rio… Beneath this yew I would be sepul… It is a lovely spot! The sultry s…
Oh! thou most fatal of Pandora’s… Consumption! silent cheater of the… Thou comest not robed in agonizing… Nor mark’st thy course with Death… But silent and unnoticed thou dost…
Yes, it will be over soon.-This s… Of life will vanish from my feveri… And death my wearied spirit will r… From this wild region of unvaried… Yon brook will glide as softly as…
Sweet scented flower! who art wont… On January’s front severe, And o’er the wintry desert drear To waft thy waste perfume! Come, thou shalt form my nosegay n…
O Lord, another day is flown, And we, a lonely band, Are met once more before thy thron… To bless thy fostering hand. And wilt thou bend a listening ear…
‘In Heaven we shall be purified,… Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake, Retune thy strings for Jesus’ sak… We sing the Saviour of our race, The Lamb, our shield, and hiding-…
Quick o’er the wintry waste dart f… Bleak blows the blast-now howls—th… And oft upon its awful wings it wa… The dying wanderer’s distant, feeb… Now, when athwart the gloom gaunt…
Yet once more, and once more, awak… From silence and neglect-one lofty… Lofty, yet wilder than the winds o… And speaking mysteries more than w… I ask of thee; for I, with hymnin…
The western gale, Mild as the kisses of connubial lo… Plays round my languid limbs, as a… Beneath the ancient elm’s fantasti… I lie, exhausted with the noontide…
It is not that my lot is low, That bids this silent tear to flow… It is not grief that bids me moan; It is that I am all alone. In woods and glens I love to roam…