#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Eternal Spirit of the chainless M… Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, t… For there thy habitation is the he… The heart which love of thee alone… And when thy sons to fetters are c…
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden… In you let the minions of luxury r… Restore me to the rocks, where the… Though still they are sacred to fr… Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy m…
Dear Doctor, I have read your pla… Which is a good one in its way, Purges the eyes, and moves the bow… And drenches handkerchiefs like to… With tears that, in a flux of grie…
There is a tear for all that die, A mourner o’er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And Triumph weeps above the brave… For them is Sorrow’s purest sigh
'Tu semper amoris Sisd memor, etcari comitis ne absc… Friend of my youth! when young we… Like striplings mutually beloved, With friendship’s purest glow,
As the Liberty lads o’er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply,… So we, boys, we Will die fighting, or live free, And down with all kings but King…
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could se… Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach’d thee from my breast for e… True, she has forced thee from my…
'Tis done—but yesterday a King! And armed with Kings to strive— And now thou art a nameless thing: So abject—yet alive! Is this the man of thousand throne…
Ambition was my idol, which was br… Before the shrines of Sorrow and… And the two last have left me many… O’er which reflection may be made… Now, like Friar Bacon’s brazen he…
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…
In one who felt as once he felt This might, perhaps, have fann’d t… But now his heart no more will mel… Because that heart is not the same… As when the ebbing flames are low,
From the last hill that looks on t… I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rend… 'Twas thy last sun went down, and… Flash’d back on the last glance I… I look’d for thy temple, I look’d…
Oh you, who in all names can tickl… Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore,… For hang me if I know of which yo… Your Quarto two-pounds, or your T… But now to my letter-to yours 'tis…
‘And Ireland, like a bastinadoed… kneeling to receive the paltry rid… Ere the daughter of Brunswick is… And her ashes still float to their… Lo! George the triumphant speeds…
Since now the hour is come at last… When you must quit your anxious lo… Since now our dream of bliss is pa… One pang, my girl, and all is over… Alas! that pang will be severe,