What mortal first by adverse fate… Trampled by tyranny or scoffed by… Stung by remorse or wrung by pover… Bade with fond sigh his native lau… Wretched! but tenfold wretched who…
I LEAVE thee, beauteous Italy!… From the high terraces, at even—ti… To look supine into thy depths of… Thy golden moon between the cliff… Or thy dark spires of fretted cypr…
Tell me not what too well I know About the bard of Sirmio. Yes, in Thalia’s son Such stains there are—as when a G… Sprinkles another’s laughing face
MILD is the parting year, and sw… The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its glo…
George the First was always recko… Vile, but viler George the Second… And what mortal ever heard Any good of George the Third? When from earth the Fourth descen…
OVER his millions Death has lawf… But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! no… After a longer struggle, in a figh… Worthy of Italy, to youth restor’… Thou, far from home, art sunk bene…
Lately our poets loiter’d in green… Content to catch the ballads of th… I fancied I had strength enough t… A loftier station at no distant ti… And might securely from intrusion…
The Year’s twelve daughters had i… Of measured pace tho’ varying mien… Some froward, some sedater, some a… For festival, some reckless of att… The snow had left the mountain—top…
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…
Speak not too ill of me, Athenian… Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too… From others of all tribes am I se… I leave your confines: none whom y… Finding me hungry and athirst, sha…
Death stands above me, whispering… I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I kno… Is, there is not a word of fear.
I STROVE with none, for none wa… Nature I loved and, next to Natur… I warm’d both hands before the fir… It sinks, and I am ready to depar…
Here, where precipitate Spring wi… Into hot Summer’s lusty arms expi… And where go forth at morn, at eve… Soft airs, that want the lute to p… And softer sighs, that know not wh…
WE are what suns and winds and wa… The mountains are our sponsors, an… Fashion and win their nursling wit… But where the land is dim from tyr… There tiny pleasures occupy the pl…
With much ado you fail to tell The requisites for writing well; But, what bad writing is, you quit… Have proved by every line you writ…
