#EnglishWriters #Romantic
If from great nature’s or our own… Of thought we could but snatch a c… Perhaps mankind might find the pat… But then 'twould spoil much good p… One system eats another up, and th…
Titan! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despi… What was thy pity’s recompense?
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marbl… Are level with the waters, there s… A cry of nations o’er thy sunken h… A loud lament along the sweeping s… If I, a northern wanderer, weep f…
I would I were a careless child, Still dwelling in my Highland cav… Or roaming through the dusky wild, Or bounding o’er the dark blue wav… The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride,
He who sublime in epic numbers rol… And he who struck the softer lyre… By Death’s unequal hand alike con… Fit comrades in Elysian regions m…
Woman! experience might have told… That all must love thee who behold… Surely experience might have taugh… Thy firmest promises are nought: But, placed in all thy charms befo…
Good plays are scarce: So Moore writes farce. The poet’s fame grows brittle— We knew before That Little’s Moore,
No breath of air to break the wave That rolls below the Athenian’s g… That tomb which, gleaming o’er the… First greets the homeward-veering… High o’er the land he saved in vai…
It is the hour when from the bough… The nightingale’s high note is hea… It is the hour—when lover’s vows Seem sweet in every whisper’d word… And gentle winds and waters near,
When coldness wraps this suffering… Ah! whither strays the immortal mi… It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darken’d dust behin… Then, unembodied, doth it trace
I would to heaven that I were so… As I am blood, bone, marrow, pass… Because at least the past were pas… And for the future - (but I write… Having got drunk exceedingly today…
To be the father of the fatherless… To stretch the hand from the thron… His offspring, who expired in othe… To make thy sire’s sway by a kingd… This is to be a monarch, and repre…
High in the midst, surrounded by h… MAGNUS his ample front sublime… Placed on his chair of state, he s… While Sophs and Freshmen tremble… As all around sit wrapt in speechl…
When Thurlow this damn’d nonsense… (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he mean… And since not even our Rogers’ pr… To common sense his thoughts could…
There is a tear for all that die, A mourner o’er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And Triumph weeps above the brave… For them is Sorrow’s purest sigh
