Methought I was a billow in the c
Of common men, that stream without
That ocean which at once is deaf a
That I, a man, stood amid many mo
By a wayside..., which the aspect

For me, my friend, if not that tea
In my faint eyes, and that my hear
With feelings which make rapture p
Yet, from thy voice that falsehood
I thank thee—let the tyrant keep

Hark! the owlet flaps her wing,
In the pathless dell beneath,
Hark! night ravens loudly sing,
Tidings of despair and death.—
Horror covers all the sky,

She was an aged woman; and the yea
Which she had numbered on her toil
Had bowed her natural powers to de
She was an aged woman; yet the ray
Which faintly glimmered through he

Emily,
A ship is floating in the harbour
A wind is hovering o’er the mounta
There is a path on the sea’s azure
No keel has ever plough’d that pat

Bright ball of flame that through
Silently takest thine aethereal wa
And with surpassing glory dimm’st
Twinkling amid the dark blue depth
Unlike the fire thou bearest, soon

Hark! the owlet flaps his wings
In the pathless dell beneath;
Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings
Tidings of approaching death.

A scene, which 'wildered fancy vie
In the soul’s coldest solitude,
With that same scene when peaceful
Flings rapture’s colour o’er the g
When mountain, meadow, wood and st

Swift as a spirit hastening to his
Of glory & of good, the Sun spran
Rejoicing in his splendour, & the
Of darkness fell from the awakened
The smokeless altars of the mounta

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;
Sad storm whose tears are vain,