It glads us much to be able to say, That a meeting is fixt for some early day, Of all such dowagers--he or she-- (No matter the sex, so they dowagers be,) Whose opinions concerning Church and State...
In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its pleasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own, And the light that surrounds us is all from within;...
"This clamor which pretends to be raised for the safety of religion has almost worn put the very appearance of it, and rendered us not only the most divided but the most immoral people upon the face of the earth." ...
Some think we bards have nothing real; That poets live among the stars so, Their very dinners are ideal,-- (And, heaven knows, too oft they are so,)--...
According to some learned opinions The Irish once were Carthaginians; But trusting to more late descriptions I'd rather say they were Egyptians. My reason's this:--the Priests of Isis,...
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. ...
I saw the moon rise clear O'er hills and vales of snow Nor told my fleet reindeer The track I wished to go. Yet quick he bounded forth; For well my reindeer knew I've but one path on earth--...
Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, When the Spirit leaves this sphere. Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her To those she long hath mourned for here?
It is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him....
I've a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here,-- Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps: I'll seek, to whisper it in thine ear, Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps;...
I wish I was by that dim Lake,[1] Where sinful souls their farewell take Of this vain world, and half-way lie In death's cold shadow, ere they die. There, there, far from thee,...
Whisperings, heard by wakeful maids, To whom the night-stars guide us; Stolen walks thro' moonlight shades, With those we love beside us, Hearts beating, At meeting; Tears starting,...
All in again--unlookt for bliss! Yet, ah! one adjunct still we miss;-- One tender tie, attached so long To the same head, thro' right and wrong. Why, Bathurst, why didst thou cut off...
As news from Olympus has grown rather rare, Since bards, in their cruises, have ceased to touch there, We extract for our readers the intelligence given, In our latest accounts from that ci-devant Heaven--...
Lay his sword by his side,[1]--it hath served him too well Not to rest near his pillow below; To the last moment true, from his hand ere it fell, Its point was still turned to a flying foe....