#EnglishWriters #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time’s endeavour Be tried in vain No other pleasure
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of… Bright as thy mother’s in their hu… Those rosy lips, whose dimples pla… And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy,
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…
Near this spot Are deposited the Remains Of one Who possessed Beauty Without Vanity,
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,
Oh you, who in all names can tickl… Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore,… For hang me if I know of which yo… Your Quarto two-pounds, or your T… But now to my letter-to yours 'tis…
When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shootin…
’TIS done—but yesterday a King! And arm’d with Kings to strive— And now thou art a nameless thing: So abject—yet alive! Is this the man of thousand throne…
From the last hill that looks on t… I beheld thee, Oh Sion! when rend… 'Twas thy last sun went down, and… Flash’d back on the last glance I… II.
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…
Ah!—What should follow slips from… Whatever follows ne’ertheless may… As à -propos of hope or retrospect… As though the lurking thought had… All present life is but an interje…
Thou art not false, but thou art f… To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to… Are doubly bitter from that though… 'Tis this which breaks the heart t…
Rousseau—Voltaire—our Gibbon—De… Leman! these names are worthy of t… Thy shore of names like these! wer… Their memory thy remembrance would… To them thy banks were lovely as t…
When Time, or soon or late, shall… The dreamless sleep that lulls the… Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o’er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be the…
The braziers, it seems, are prepar… An address, and present it themsel… A superfluous pageant-for, by the… They’ll find where they’re going m…