The knightly legend of thy shield betrays The moral of thy life; a forecast wise, And that large honour that deceit defies, Inspired thy fathers in the elder days,...
Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground; An' the bells be a-zend'n all down the Coombe From tower, their mwoansome sound. An' the wind is still,...
Giordano, verily thy Pencil's skill Hath here portrayed with Nature's happiest grace The fair Endymion couched on Latmos-hill; And Dian gazing on the Shepherd's face In rapture, yet suspending her embrace,...
O'er the tears that we shed, dear The bitter vines twist, And the hawk and the red deer They keep where we kiss'd: All broken lies the shieling That sheltered from rain,...
The money raised--the army ready-- Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy Valiantly braying in the van, To the old tune ""Eh, eh, Sire 'ne!"[1]-- Naught wanting, but some coup dramatic,...
Tho' soldiers are the true supports, The natural allies of Courts, Woe to the Monarch, who depends Too much on his red-coated friends; For even soldiers sometimes think--...
Novella, a young Bolognese, The daughter of a learned Law Doctor,[1] Who had with all the subtleties Of old and modern jurists stockt her, Was so exceeding fair, 'tis said,...
Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries, His iron might the potent engine plies: Haste, winged words, and ere 'tis useless, tell, Farewell, farewell, yet once again, farewell. ...
Farewell, Theresa! yon cloud that over Heaven's pale night-star gathering we see, Will scarce from that pure orb have past ere thy lover Swift o'er the wide wave shall wander from thee. ...
When divine Art conceives a form and face, She bids the craftsman for his first essay To shape a simple model in mere clay: This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace....
They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; They threatened its life with a railway-share; They charmed it with smiles and soap....
Hail to you, comrades, who have won, Where the torn lines of battle run By tattered town and ruined mead, The honour that men give with pride To those who, daffing death aside,...
Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree stands alone on the hill, and...
Why openest thou afresh the spring of my grief, O son of Alpin, inquiring how Oscur fell? My eyes are blind with tears; but memory beams on my heart. How can I relate the mournful death of...