Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad;...
When great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome, And sent his conquering bands to foreign wars, Abroad when dreaded, and beloved at home, He saw his fame increasing with his years,...
How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose By which thy close thy constant enemy Has softly lull'd thee to thy woes? Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease to own...
Say, dearest Villiers, poor departed friend, (Since fleeting life thus suddenly must end) Say, what did all thy busy hopes avail, That anxious thou from pole to pole didst sail,...
(After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the head of the first enlisted negro regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.)
Say, ye apostate and profane, Wretches, who blush not to disdain Allegiance to your God,' Did e'er your idly wasted love Of virtue for her sake remove And lift you from the crowd?
Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose naiads long Have seen thee ling'ring with a fond delay 'Mid those soft friends, whose hearts, some future day, Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song....
Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps doth die; And this security, It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both. ...
Not all thy flushing suns are set, Herrick, as yet; Nor doth this far-drawn hemisphere Frown and look sullen ev'rywhere. Days may conclude in nights, and suns may rest As dead within the west;...
Dear Howard, from the soft assaults of love Poets and painters never are secure; Can I untouch'd the fair one's passions move, Or thou draw beauty, and not feel its power? ...
Arise, arise, arise! There is blood on the earth that denies ye bread; Be your wounds like eyes To weep for the dead, the dead, the dead. What other grief were it just to pay?...
How young I am! Ah! heaven, this curse of youth Doth mock me from my mirror with great eyes, And pulsing veins repeat the unwelcome truth, That I must live, though hope within me dies. ...
As when the old moon lighted by the tender And radiant crescent of the new is seen, And for a moment's space suggests the splendor Of what in its full prime it once has been,...
O Neptune! Neptune! must I still Be here detain'd against my will? Is this your justice, when I'm come Above two hundred miles from home; O'er mountains steep, o'er dusty plains,...
How can I choose but love and follow her Whose shadow smells like milder pomander? How can I choose but kiss her, whence does come The storax, spikenard, myrrh, and laudanum?
Here lieth one who did most truly prove, That he could never die while he could move, So hung his destiny never to rot While he might still jogg on, and keep his trot, Made of sphear-metal, never to decay...
Thou bid'st me come; I cannot come; for why? Thou dwell'st aloft, and I want wings to fly. To mount my soul, she must have pinions given; For 'tis no easy way from earth to heaven.
If Thou be'st taken, God forbid I fly from Thee, as others did: But if Thou wilt so honour me As to accept my company, I'll follow Thee, hap hap what shall, Both to the judge and judgment hall:...