Richer than misers o’er their coun… Nobler than kings, or king-pollute… Here dwelt the man of Ross! O tra… Departed merit claims a reverent t… If 'neath this roof thy wine-cheer…

Thicker than rain—drops on Novemb…

Well, they are gone, and here must… This lime—tree bower my prison! I… Beauties and feelings, such as wou… Most sweet to my remembrance even… Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!…

Composed while climbing the left a… With many a pause and oft reverted… I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet… Warble in shade their wild-wood me… Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soot…

I sigh, fair injured stranger! for… But what shall sighs avail thee?… ‘Mid all the ’pomp and circumstanc… Shivers in nakedness. Unbidden, s… Sad recollections of Hope’s garis…

Song (Act II, Scene I, lines 65-80) A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold—

Edmund! thy grave with aching eye… And inly groan for heaven’s poor o… 'Tis tempest all or gloom: in earl… If gifted with the Ithuriel lance… We force to start amid her feigned…

As late I lay in Slumber’s shadow… With wetted cheek and in a mourner… I saw the sainted form of FREE… She spake! not sadder moans the au… 'Great Son of Genius! sweet to me…

How long will ye round me be swell… O ye blue-tumbling waves of the se… Not always in caves was my dwellin… Nor beneath the cold blast of the… Thro’ the high-sounding halls of…

The piteous sobs that choke the V… For him, the fair betrothed Youth… Cold in the narrow dwelling, or th… With which a Mother wails her Dar… These from our Nature’s common im…

'Tis sweet to him, who all the wee… Through city-crowds must push his… To stroll alone through fields and… And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. And sweet it is, in summer bower,

From a letter from STC to Wordsw… In stale blank verse a subject sta… I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wor… You’ll tell me what you think, my…

Scene—A spacious drawing-room, wi… Katharine. What are the words? Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improv… to ask of you, Sir ; it is that yo… sweetly.

Dear native brook! wild streamlet… How many various-fated years have… What happy and what mournful hours… I skimmed the smooth thin stone al… Numbering its light leaps! Yet so…

The shepherds went their hasty way… And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager t… For to the Babe, that at her boso…