#EnglishWriters #Romantic
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s… And slavery half forgets her feuda… He, their unhoped, but unforgotten… The long self-exiled chieftain is… There be bright faces in the busy…
For Oxford and for Waldegrave You give much more than me you gav… Which is not fairly to behave, My Murray. Because if a live dog, 'tis said,
The town was taken—whether he migh… Himself or bastion, little matter’… His stubborn valour was no future… Ismail’s no more! The Crescent’s… Sunk, and the crimson Cross glar’…
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of...
Oh! could Le Sage’s demon’s gift Be realized at my desire, This night my trembling form he’d… To place it on St. Mary’s spire. Then would, unroof’d, old Granta’…
Oh Lady! when I left the shore, The distant shore which gave me bi… I hardly thought to grieve once mo… To quit another spot on earth: Yet here, amidst this barren isle,
This faint resemblance of thy char… (Though strong as mortal art could… My constant heart of fear disarms, Revives my hopes, and bids me live… Here, I can trace the locks of go…
In law an infant, and in years a b… In mind a slave to every vicious j… From every sense of shame and virt… In lies an adept, in deceit a fien… Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a c…
When Man, expell’d from Eden’s bo… A moment linger’d near the gate, Each scene recall’d the vanish’d h… And bade him curse his future fate… But, wandering on through distant…
Her eye (I’m very fond of handsom… Was large and dark, suppressing ha… Until she spoke, then through its… Flash’d an expression more of prid… And love than either; and there wo…
Hush’d are the winds, and still th… Not e’en a zephyr wanders through… Whilst I return, to view my Marga… And scatter flowers on the dust I… Within this narrow cell reclines h…
My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here’s a double health to thee! Here’s a sigh to those who love me…
Though the day of my destiny’s ove… And the star of my fate hath decli… Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could fin… Though thy soul with my grief was…
Away, away, ye notes of woe! Be silent, thou once soothing stra… Or I must flee from hence—for, oh… I dare not trust those sounds agai… To me they speak of brighter days
The King was on his throne, The Satraps throng’d the hall: A thousand bright lamps shone O’er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold,