This Sycamore, oft musical with b… Such tents the Patriarchs loved!… May all its agèd boughs o’er—canop… The small round basin, which this… Keeps pure from falling leaves! L…

Author. A lovely form there sate beside my… And such a feeding calm its presen… A tender love so pure from earthly… That I unnethe the fancy might co…

I have experienc’d The worst, the World can wreak on… That can make Life indifferent, y… With whisper’d Discontents the dy… I have beheld the whole of all, wh…

Sandoval. You loved the daughter… Earl Henry. Loved? Sandoval. Did you not say you woo… Earl Henry. Once I loved Her whom I dared not woo!

Sweet flower! that peeping from th… Unfoldest timidly, (for in strange… This dark, frieze—coated, hoarse,… Hath borrowed Zephyr’s voice, and… With blue voluptuous eye) alas poo…

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!…

The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul… The Soul’s self-symbol, its image… Its own yet not itself—

And in Life’s noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless… The heart’s Self-solace and solil… You mould my Hopes, you fashion m… And to the leading Love-throb in…

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…

Near the lone pile with ivy oversp… Fast by the rivulet’s sleep-persua… Where 'sleeps the moonlight’ on yo… O humbly press that consecrated gr… For there does Edmund rest, the l…

Mild Splendor of the various-vest… Mother of wildly-working visions!… I watch thy gliding, while with wa… Thy weak eye glimmers through a fl… And when thou lovest thy pale orb…

Ye Clouds! that far above me floa… Whose pathless march no mortal may… Ye Ocean—Waves! that, wheresoe’er… Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye Woods! that listen to the nigh…

Ter. But that entrance, Selma? Sel. Can no one hear? It is a per… Ter. No one. Sel. My husband’s father told it… Poor old Sesina—angels rest his s…

Well! If the Bard was weather—wis… The grand old ballad of Sir Patri… This night, so tranquil now, will… Unroused by winds, that ply a busi… Than those which mould yon cloud i…