#EnglishWriters
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is il… Which severs those it should unite… Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night goo…
I love thee, Baby! for thine own… Those azure eyes, that faintly dim… Thy tender frame, so eloquently we… Love in the sternest heart of hate… But more when o’er thy fitful slum…
Fairest of the Destinies, Disarray thy dazzling eyes: Keener far thy lightnings are Than the winged [bolts] thou beare… And the smile thou wearest
BY MICHING MALLECHO, Esq. Is it a party in a parlour, Crammed just as they on earth were… Some sipping punch-some sipping te… But, as you by their faces see,
Dearest, best and brightest, Come away, To the woods and to the fields! Dearer than this fairest day Which, like thee to those in sorro…
I rode one evening with Count Mad… Upon the bank of land which breaks… Of Adria towards Venice: a bare s… Of hillocks, heap’d from ever-shif… Matted with thistles and amphibiou…
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
I rode one evening with Count Mad… Upon the bank of land which breaks… Of Adria towards Venice: a bare s… Of hillocks, heap’d from ever—shif… Matted with thistles and amphibiou…
That time is dead for ever, child! Drowned, frozen, dead for ever! We look on the past And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and…
Death! where is thy victory? To triumph whilst I die, To triumph whilst thine ebon wing Enfolds my shuddering soul? O Death! where is thy sting?
Yes! all is past—swift time has fl… Yet its swell pauses on my sickeni… How long will horror nerve this fr… I’m dead, and lingers yet my soul… Oh! powerful Fate, revoke thy dea…
DRAMATIS PERSONÃ Count Francesco Cenci. Giacomo, his Son. Bernardo, his Son. Cardinal Camillo.
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… ’Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sle… And sweet the mild rush of the sof… And sweet is the glimpse of yon di… 'Neath the verdant arcades of yon… But sweeter than all was thy tone…
Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dea… Rise, Memory, and write its prais… Up,—to thy wonted work! come, trac…