#EnglishWriters
I ransack’d for a theme of song, Much ancient chronicle, and long; I read of bright embattled fields, Of trophied helmets, spears, and s… Of chiefs, whose single arm could…
The billows swell, the winds are h… Clouds overcast my wintry sky; Out of the depths to Thee I call,… My fears are great, my strength is… O Lord, the pilot’s part perform,
God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the se… And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines
I was a grovelling creature once, And basely cleaved to earth: I wanted spirit to renounce The clod that gave me birth. But God hath breathed upon a worm…
They mock my toil—the nymphs and a… And whence this fond attempt to wr… Love-songs in language that thou l… How dar’st thou risque to sing the… Say truly. Find’st not oft thy pu…
What portents, from what distant r… Unseen till now in ours, the aston… In ages past, old Proteus, with h… Of sea-calves, sought the mountain… But now, descending whence of late…
Gracious Lord, our children see, By Thy mercy we are free; But shall these, alas! remain Subjects still of Satan’s reign? Israel’s young ones, when of old
The Lord proclaims His grace abro… ‘Behold, I change your hearts of… Each shall renounce his idol-god, And serve, henceforth, the Lord a… ’My grace, a flowing stream, proce…
Deem not, sweet rose, that bloom’s… Thy friend, tho’ to a cloister’s s… Can e’er forget the charms he left… Or pass unheeded this auspicious m… In happier days to brighter prospe…
(excerpt) Hark! ’tis the twanging horn! o’er… That with its wearisome but needfu… Bestrides the wintry flood, in whi… Sees her unwrinkled face reflected…
Did Cytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise? Or was it Cytherea’s touch, When bathing here, that made it su…
No mischief worthier of our fear In nature can be found Than friendship, in ostent sincere… But hollow and unsound, For lull’d into a dangerous dream
In Scotland’s realm, where trees… Nor even shrubs abound; But where, however bleak the view Some better things are found; For husband there and wife may boa…
Boy, I hate their empty shows, Persian garlands I detest, Bring not me the late-blown rose, Lingering after all the rest. Plainer myrtle pleases me,
My rose, Gravina, blooms anew; And steeped not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by you, Will never fade again.