'Mong our neighbors, the French, in the good olden time When Nobility flourisht, great Barons and Dukes Often set up for authors in prose and in rhyme,...
"Hush, hush!"--how well That sweet word sounds, When Love, the little sentinel, Walks his night-rounds; Then, if a foot but dare One rose-leaf crush, Myriads of voices in the air...
Hush, sweet Lute, thy songs remind me Of past joys, now turned to pain; Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, But whose burning marks remain. In each tone, some echo falleth...
Oh, lost, forever lost--no more Shall Vesper light our dewy way Along the rocks of Crissa's shore, To hymn the fading fires of day; No more to Tempe's distant vale In holy musings shall we roam,...
I'd mourn the hopes that leave me, If thy smiles had left me too; I'd weep when friends deceive me, If thou wert, like them, untrue. But while I've thee before me, With heart so warm and eyes so bright,...
Oh tidings of freedom! oh accents of hope! Waft, waft them, ye zephyrs, to Erin's blue sea, And refresh with their sounds every son of the Pope, From Dingle-a-cooch to far Donaghadee. ...
If in loving, singing, night and day We could trifle merrily life away, Like atoms dancing in the beam, Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream, Or summer blossoms, born to sigh...
If thou'lt be mine, the treasures of air, Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy's eye looks fair, Or in Hope's sweet music sounds most sweet, Shall be ours--if thou wilt be mine, love!...
If thou wouldst have me sing and play, As once I played and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung. Call back the time when pleasure's sigh...
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone. Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e'er was to press it alone....
If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me, And think this heart to other loves will stray, If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me; By every dream I have when thou'rt away,...
With women and apples both Paris and Adam Made mischief enough in their day:-- God be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear Madam, Depends not on us, the same way....
'Twas but for a moment--and yet in that time She crowded the impressions of many an hour: Her eye had a glow, like the sun of her clime, Which waked every feeling at once into flower. ...
Between Adam and me the great difference is, Tho' a paradise each has been forced to resign, That he never wore breeches, till turned out of his, While for want of my breeches, I'm banisht from mine.
And do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, When surely there's nothing in nature more common? She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me-- And could I expect any more from a woman? ...
In myrtle wreaths my votive sword I'll cover, Like them of old whose one immortal blow Struck off the galling fetters that hung over Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low....