#EnglishWriters
’Tis said that under distant skies… Nor you the fact deny, What first attracts an Indian’s e… Becomes his deity. Perhaps a lily, or a rose,
Shall Love alone for ever claim An universal right to fame, An undisputed sway? Or has not Music equal charms, To fill the breast with strange al…
O Memory! Celestial maid! Who glean’st the flowerets cropt b… And, suffering not a leaf to fade, Preserv’st the blossoms of our pri… Bring, bring those moments to my m…
When bright Ophelia treads the gr… In all the pride of dress and mien… Averse to freedom, mirth and play, The lofty rival of the day; Methinks, to my enchanted eye,
’Twas always held, and ever will, By sage mankind, discreeter To anticipate a lesser ill Than undergo a greater. When mortals dread disease, pain,
Auditæ voces, vagitus et ingens, Infantunque animæ flentes in limine primo. Virg.ADVERTISEMENT What particulars in Spenser were imagined most proper for the author’s imitationon this oc...
Ye shepherds give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep: They have nothing to do but to str… I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;
Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam… Should Corydon’s happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home. Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Part first. Perhaps some cloud eclipsed the da… When thus I tuned my pensive lay: The ship is launch’d-we catch the… On life’s extended ocean sail:
While blooming Spring descends fr… By whose mild influence instant wo… From whose soft breath Elysian be… The sweets of Hagley, or the prid… Will Lyttleton the rural landscap…
When genius, graced with lineal sp… When title shines, with ambient vi… Like some fair almond’s flowery po… The pride, the perfume, of the reg… Then learn, ye Fair! to soften sp…
From a lone tower, with reverend i… The pealing bell awaked a tender s… Still, as the village caught the w… A swelling tear distream’d from ev… So droop’d, I ween, each Briton’s…
Debitae nymphis opifex coronae.-H… Imitation. Constructor of the tributary wreat… For rural maids. Bring, Flora, bring thy treasures…
Have you ne’er seen, my gentle Sq… The humours of your kitchen fire? Says Ned to Sal, 'I lead a spade… Why don’t ye play?-the girl’s afra… Play something-anything—but play—
A ballad. Written about the time… Come listen to my mournful tale, Ye tender hearts and lovers dear! Nor will you scorn to heave a sigh… Nor need you blush to shed a tear.