#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Oh! mihi præteritos referat si J… Ye scenes of my childhood, whose l… Embitters the present, compar’d wi… Where science first dawn’d on the… And friendships were form’d, too r…
Absent or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belon… As all can tell, who share, like m… In turn thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall co…
Saint Peter sat by the celestial… His keys were rusty, and the lock… So little trouble had been given o… Not that the place by any means wa… But since the Gallic era 'eight-e…
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country’s strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughter of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he wo…
The harp the monarch minstrel swep… The King of men, the loved of Hea… Which Music hallow’d while she we… O’er tones her heart of hearts had… Redoubled be her tears, its chords…
When, from the heart where Sorrow… Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o’er the changing aspect flits… And clouds the brow, or fills the… Heed not that gloom, which soon sh…
The Moorish King rides up and dow… Through Granada’s royal town; From Elvira’s gate to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama!
Here’s a happy new year! but with… I beg you’ll permit me to say Wish me many returns of the season… But as few as you please of the dy… January 2, 1820.
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo’s off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o’er the mast. From aloft the signal’s streaming,
This Band, which bound thy yellow… Is mine, sweet girl! Thy pledge o… It claims my warmest, dearest care… Like relics left of saints above. Oh! I will wear it next my heart;
When I roved a young Highlander o… And climb’d thy steep sumrnit, oh… To gaze on the torrent that thunde… Or the mist of the tempest that ga… Untutor’d by science, a stranger t…
So, we’ll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as lovin… And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath,
Why should my anxious breast repin… Because my youth is fled? Days of delight may still be mine; Affection is not dead. In tracing back the years of youth…
Oh when shall the grave hide for e… Oh when shall my soul wing her fli… The present is hell, and the comin… But brings, with new torture, the… From my eye flows no tear, from my…
‘Hic est, quem legis, ille, quern… He unto whom thou art so partial, Oh, reader is the well-known Mart… The Epigrammatist: while living, Give him the fame thou wouldst be…
