#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
You have ask’d for a verse:—the re… In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny… But my Hippocrene was but my brea… And my feelings (its fountain) are… Were I now as I was, I had sung
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…
Think’st thou I saw thy beauteous… Suffus’d in tears, implore to stay… And heard unmov’d thy plenteous si… Which said far more than words can… Though keen the grief thy tears ex…
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!
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…
Kind Reader! take your choice to… Here HAROLD lies, but where’s h… If such you seek, try Westminster… Ten thousand just as fit for him a… Athens
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee The heart of which thou bled’st is… Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeedin… Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
With death doom’d to grapple, Beneath this cold slab, he Who lied in the Chapel Now lies in the Abbey.
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav’ring spr… Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou now wing thy distant fli… No more with wonted humour gay,
Great Jove, to whose almighty thr… Both gods and mortals homage pay, Ne’er may my soul thy power disown… Thy dread behests ne’er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall
These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense, love or… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…
Spot of my youth! whose hoary bran… Swept by the breeze that fans thy… Where now alone I muse, who oft h… With those I loved, thy soft and… With those who, scattered far, per…
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,
My hair is grey, but not with year… Nor grew it white In a single night, As men’s have grown from sudden fe… My limbs are bow’d, though not wit…
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…