#Imagery #Pastoral
Come hither, gently rowing, Come, bear me quickly o’er This stream so brightly flowing To yonder woodland shore. But vain were my endeavour
One kiss, dear maid! I said and s… Your scorn the little boon denied. Ah why refuse the blameless bliss? Can danger lurk within a kiss? Yon viewless wand’rer of the vale,
With Donne, whose muse on dromeda… Wreathe iron pokers into true—love… Rhyme’s sturdy cripple, fancy’s ma… Wit’s forge and fire—blast, meanin…
My pensive SARA! thy soft cheek… Thus on mine arm, most soothing sw… To sit beside our Cot, our Cot o’… With white-flower’d Jasmin, and t… (Meet emblems they of Innocence a…
First Voice ‘But tell me, tell me… Thy soft response renewing— What makes that ship drive on so f… What is the ocean doing?’ Second Voice ‘Still as a slave be…
Scene—A spacious drawing-room, wi… Katharine. What are the words? Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improv… to ask of you, Sir ; it is that yo… sweetly.
When Hope but made Tranquillity b… A Flight of Hopes for ever on the… But made Tranquillity a conscious… And wheeling round and round in sp… Fann’d the calm air upon the brow…
Tranquillity! thou better name Than all the family of Fame! Thou ne’er wilt leave my riper age To low intrigue, or factious rage; For oh! dear child of thoughtful…
While my young cheek retains its h… And I have many friends who hold… L——! methinks, I would not often… Such melodies as thine, lest I sh… All memory of the wrongs and sore…
Not, Stanhope! with the Patriot’s… I mock thy worth—Friend of the hu… Since scorning Faction’s low and… Aloof thou wendest in thy stately… Thyself redeeming from that leprou…
Richer than misers o’er their coun… Nobler than kings, or king-pollute… Here dwelt the man of Ross! O tra… Departed merit claims a reverent t… If 'neath this roof thy wine-cheer…
Well, they are gone, and here must… This lime-tree bower my prison! I… Beauties and feelings, such as wou… Most sweet to my remembrance even… Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!…
'Tis sweet to him, who all the wee… Through city-crowds must push his… To stroll alone through fields and… And hallow thus the Sabbath-day. And sweet it is, in summer bower,
The poet in his lone yet genial ho… Gives to his eyes a magnifying pow… Or rather he emancipates his eyes From the black shapeless accidents… In unctuous cones of kindling coal…
Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays. ‘What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.’ ...