#EnglishWriters
Almighty King! whose wondrous han… Supports the weight of sea and lan… Whose grace is such a boundless st… No heart shall break that sighs fo… Thy providence supplies my food,
Enamour’d, artless, young, on fore… Uncertain whither from myself to f… To thee, dear Lady, with an humbl… Let me devote my heart, which I h… By certain proofs not few, intrepi…
A needle, small as small can be, In bulk and use surpasses me, Nor is my purchase dear; For little, and almost for nought As many of my kind are bought
Other stones the era tell, When some feeble mortal fell; I stand here to date the birth Of these hardy sons of earth. Which shall longest brave the sky,
My soul is sad, and much dismay’d; See, Lord, what legions of my foe… With fierce Apollyon at their hea… My heavenly pilgrimage oppose. See, from the ever-burning lake,
Why weeps the muse for England? W… In England’s case to move the mus… From side to side of her delightfu… Is she not clothed with a perpetua… Can Nature add a charm, or Art co…
The winter night now well nigh wor… The wakeful cock proclaimed approa… When Simulus, poor tenant of a fa… Of narrowest limits, heard the shr… Yawned, stretched his limbs, and a…
Jesus! whose blood so freely strea… To satisfy the law’s demand; By Thee from guilt and wrath rede… Before the Father’s face I stand. To reconcile offending man,
On the green margin of the brook, Despairing Phyllida reclined, Whilst every sigh, and every look, Declared the anguish of her mind. Am I less lovely then? (she cries…
Ye linnets, let us try, beneath th… Which shall be loudest in our Mak… In quest of some forlorn retreat… For all the world is blind, and wa… That God alone should prop the si…
Hatred and vengence—my eternal por… Scarce can endure delay of executi… Wait with impatient readiness to s… Soul in a moment. Damned below Judas; more abhorred…
In language warm as could be breat… Thy picture speaks the original my… Not by those looks that indicate t… They only speak thee friend of all… Expression here more soothing stil…
When wit and genius meet their doo… In all devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O’er Murray’s loss the Muses wept…
Painter, this likeness is too stro… And we shall mourn the dead too lo…
Pause here, and think; a monitory… Demands one moment of thy fleeting… Consult life’s silent clock, thy b… Seems it to say—'Health here has… Hast thou the vigour of thy youth?…