#EnglishWriters #Romantic
As o’er the cold sepulchral stone Some name arrests the passer-by; Thus, when thou view’st this page… May mine attract thy pensive eye! And when by thee that name is read…
There is a mystic thread of life So dearly wreath’d with mine alone… That Destiny’s relentless knife At once must sever both, or none. There is a Form on which these ey…
‘Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus… Dear Long, in this sequester’d sc… While all around in slumber lie, The joyous days, which ours have b… Come rolling fresh on Fancy’s eye…
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,
Nothing so difficult as a beginnin… In poesy, unless perhaps the end; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems… The race, he sprains a wing, and d… Like Lucifer when hurl’d from hea…
‘But if any old lady, knight, prie… Should condemn me for printing a s… If good Madam Squintum my work sh… May I venture to give her a smack… CANDOUR compels me, BECHER!…
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…
Time was, ere yet in these degener… Ignoble themes obtain’d mistaken p… When sense and wit with poesy alli… No fabl’d graces, flourish’d side… From the same fount their inspirat…
Away with your fictions of flimsy… Those tissues of falsehood which… Give me the mild beam of the soul—… Or the rapture which dwells on the… Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fant…
My hair is grey, but not with year… Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fe… My limbs are bow’d, though not wit…
There’s not a joy the world can gi… When the glow of early thought dec… 'Tis not on youth’s smooth cheek t… But the tender bloom of heart is g… Then the few whose spirits float a…
The Moorish King rides up and dow… Through Granada’s royal town; From Elvira’s gate to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama!
Oh, talk not to me of a name great… The days of our youth are the days… And the myrtle and ivy of sweet tw… Are worth all your laurels, though… What are garlands and crowns to th…
When Thurlow this damn’d nonsense… (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he mean… And since not even our Rogers’ pr… To common sense his thoughts could…
To the tune of ‘Why, how now, sau… Why, how now, saucy Tom? If you thus must ramble, I will publish some Remarks on Mister Campbell.