#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Rousseau—Voltaire—our Gibbon—De… Leman! these names are worthy of t… Thy shore of names like these! wer… Their memory thy remembrance would… To them thy banks were lovely as t…
If from great nature’s or our own… Of thought we could but snatch a c… Perhaps mankind might find the pat… But then 'twould spoil much good p… One system eats another up, and th…
My dear Mr. Murray, You’re in a damn 'd hurry, To set up this ultimate Canto; But (if they don’t rob us) You’ll see Mr. Hobhouse
And thou art dead, as young and fa… As aught of mortal birth; And form so soft, and charms so ra… Too soon return’d to Earth! Though Earth receiv’d them in her…
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marbl… Are level with the waters, there s… A cry of nations o’er thy sunken h… A loud lament along the sweeping s… If I, a northern wanderer, weep f…
‘Tis time the heart should be unmo… Since others it hath ceased to mov… Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf;
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…
When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shootin…
There was a sound of revelry by ni… And Belgium’s capital had gathere… Her beauty and her chivalry, and b… The lamps shone o’er fair women an… A thousand hearts beat happily; an…
'OH! banish care’—such ever be The motto of thy revelry! Perchance of mine, when wassail ni… Renew those riotous delights, Wherewith the children of Despair
Thy cheek is pale with thought, bu… And yet so lovely, that if Mirth… Its rose of whiteness with the bri… My heart would wish away that rude… And dazzle not thy deep—blue eyes—…
To Ianthe: Not in those climes where I have… Though Beauty long hath there bee… Not in those visions to the heart… Forms which it sighs but to have o…
Time! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly… Whose tardy winter, fleeting sprin… But drag or drive us on to die—— Hail thou! who on my birth bestowe…
Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were—-unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
Remember thee! remember thee! Till Lethe quench life’s burning… Remorse and shame shall cling to t… And haunt thee like a feverish dre… Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.