#1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics #EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
THE memories of moments flown, Into my spirit’s glass assemble; And as they enter, one by one, My heart-strings into music trembl… Even as the harp, the breezelet sw…
MUST all the passion which I’ve… So long to hide be paid with scorn… And must a bosom framed for love, Be doomed a hopeless love to mourn… And must thou still its homage spu…
DECK’D in a many gems of morn, A daffodil without a peer, I reared my head, and treat with s… A one-pearl-gifted daisy near. That very hour, lo! wind-a-rock’d
BACK flies my soul to other year… When thou that charming lay repeat… When smiles were only chased by te… Yet sweeter far than smiles the sw… Thy music ends, and where are they…
‘BEWARE! yon bird now in glee o… May drop into a snare:’ So sung we when a day of the past… away But not when Alf, was near.
DUSKIER than the clouds that li… ‘Tween the coal-pit and the sky, Lo, how Willy whistles by Right cheery from the colliree. Duskier might the laddie be
AWAY with the muses of frolic!—a… With the haunts of diversion and f… Ay, mine be the joy to awaken a la… And to weave for misfortune a garl… We shrink at life’s shadows and fl…
WOULD I could to freedom awaken… Half worthy the theme, then, a son… Would be echoed on high by the ser… And re-echoed on earth till with r… I would tell of the glory she give…
I’m the spirit Emmalina thy guard… Drawn hither by a subtle law but f… The golden cord of sympathy I lea… Thy aching brows with lilies to en… I have watched thee late and early…
JUST let the Owl of Evil howl! To mourners of each rank and stati… I cry, Come troll the Golden Bow… And quaff with me one deep potatio… Each sparkling droplet to the soul
COME sing me the song that once… And the heart unsubdued till that… That with its red rose caused the… That long year after year without… With thy hand on my hand, and thy…
YE’VE heard of Meg Goldlocks of… The stoniest damsel that ever was… Yet, her beauty distress’d, with i… Of the lasses for miles around Wi… Mary of Howdon, with Robin would…
I LIKE the darling critics—like? O, how upon their work I linger, When they their weapons use to str… Not me, but some less happy singer… The treasure of their venom-bags
MERRY, lark-like, merry, At the break of day, Polly meeteth Harry Coming down the way; And her lips, they quiver,
’TWAS on a night, with sleet and… From out the north a tempest blew, When Thistle to her cot did go The little Nettle’s self to woo. His errand known, she, with a frow…