When weary with the long day's care, And earthly change from pain to pain, And lost, and ready to despair, Thy kind voice calls me back again: Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,...
O India, India, O my lovely land - At whose sweet throat the greedy English snake, With fangs and lips that suck and never slake, Clings, while around thee, band by stifling band,...
Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind To something purer and more exquisite...
1. Bear witness, Erin! when thine injured isle Sees summer on its verdant pastures smile, Its cornfields waving in the winds that sweep The billowy surface of thy circling deep!...
Know, that I would accounted be True brother of a company That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song; Nor be I any less of them, Because the red-rose-bordered hem...
Arise, my Isabel, arise! The sun shoots forth his early ray, The hue of love is in the skies, The birds are singing, come away! O come, my Isabella, come, With inky tendrils hanging low;...
Come near me with thy lips, and, breathe o'er mine Their breath, for I consume with love's desire, - Thine ivory arms about me clasp and twine, And beam upon mine eye thine eye's soft fire;...
I often thought to write to thee, what time I almost fancied heaven-born, genius mine, And fondly hoped my island harp to wake, To some new strain sung for my country's sake....
Beneath the vine-clad eaves, Whose shadows fall before Thy lowly cottage door, Under the lilac's tremulous leaves, Within thy snowy clasped hand The purple flowers it bore....
Beneath the vine-clad eaves, Whose shadows fall before Thy lowly cottage door Under the lilac's tremulous leaves, Within thy snowy claspe'd hand The purple flowers it bore....
My country, I the walls, the arches see, The columns, statues, and the towers Deserted, of our ancestors; But, ah, the glory I do not behold, The laurel and the sword, that graced Our sires of old....
So, I've battled it through on my own, Jack, I have done with all dreaming and doubt. Though 'stoney' to-night and alone, Jack, I am watching the Old Year out. I have finished with brooding and fears,...
This life, dear Corry, who can doubt?-- Resembles much friend Ewart's[1] wine, When first the rosy drops come out, How beautiful, how clear they shine!...
This is your month, the month of "perfect days," Birds in full song and blossoms all ablaze. Nature herself your earliest welcome breathes, Spreads every leaflet, every bower inwreathes;...