#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
The Son of Love and Lord of War… Him who bade England bow to Norma… And left the name of conqueror mor… To his unconquerable dynasty. Not fann’d alone by Victory’s fle…
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…
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fi… A million scarce would quench desi… Still would I steep my lips in bl… And dwell an age on every kiss; Nor then my soul should sated be,
Posterity will ne’er survey A nobler grave than this: Here lie the bones of Castlereagh… Stop, traveler—
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…
There was a time, I need not name… Since it will ne’er forgotten be, When all our feelings were the sam… As still my soul hath been to thee… And from that hour when first thy…
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…
There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society, where none intru… By the deep sea, and music in its… I love not man the less, but Natu…
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were—-unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
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…
O ye! who teach the ingenuous yout… Holland, France, England, German… I pray ye flog them upon all occas… It mends their morals, never mind… The best of mothers and of educati…
Well! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy wea… Warmly, as it was wont to do. Thy husband’s blest—and 'twill imp…
When amatory poets sing their love… In liquid lines mellifluously blan… And pair their rhymes as Venus yo… They little think what mischief is… The greater their success the wors…
Oh, Friend! for ever loved, for e… What fruitless tears have bathed t… What sighs re’echo’d to thy partin… Wilst thou wast struggling in the… Could tears retard the tyrant in h…
