#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Written Under The Impression Tha… Adieu, thou Hill! where early joy Spread roses o’er my brow; Where Science seeks each loiterin… With knowledge to endow.
'O’er the glad waters of the dark… Our thoughts as boundless, and our… Far as the breeze can bear, the bi… Survey our empire, and behold our… These are our realms, no limits to…
Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shin… On earth thou wert all but divine,
And thou wert sad—yet I was not w… And thou wert sick, and yet I was… Methought that joy and health alon… Where I was not—and pain and sorr… And is it thus?—it is as I foreto…
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…
The ‘Origin of Love!’—Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may’st read in many an e… He starts to life on seeing thee? And should’st thou seek his end to…
The spell is broke; the charm is f… Thus is it with life’s fitful feve… We madly smile when we should groa… Delirium is our best deceiver. Each lucid interval of thought
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…
Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time’s endeavour Be tried in vain No other pleasure
‘Away, away, your fleeting arts May now betray some simpler hearts… And you will smile at their believ… And they shall weep at your deceiv… ANSWER TO THE FOREGO…
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…
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going, Our embargo’s off at last; Favourable breezes blowing Bend the canvass o’er the mast. From aloft the signal’s streaming,
‘Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus… Dear Long, in this sequester’d sc… While all around in slumber lie, The joyous days, which ours have b… Come rolling fresh on Fancy’s eye…
Why should my anxious breast repin… Because my youth is fled? Days of delight may still be mine; Affection is not dead. In tracing back the years of youth…
WRITTEN IN 'LETTERS O… ‘Away, away, your fleeting arts May now betray some simpler hearts… And you will smile at their believ… And they shall weep at your deceiv…
