The Phrygian rock, that braves the storm, Was once a weeping matron's form;[1] And Progne, hapless, frantic maid, Is now a swallow in the shade. Oh! that a mirror's form were mine,...
I often wish this languid lyre, This warbler of my soul's desire, Could raise the breath of song sublime, To men of fame, in former time. But when the soaring theme I try,...
To all that breathe the air of heaven, Some boon of strength has Nature given. In forming the majestic bull, She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; A hoof of strength she lent the steed,...
Yes--loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still But oh, it is the worst of pain, To love and not be loved again! Affection now has fled from earth, Nor fire of genius, noble birth,...
Once in each revolving year, Gentle bird! we find thee here. When Nature wears her summer-vest, Thou comest to weave thy simple nest; But when the chilling winter lowers....
Thy harp may sing of Troy's alarms, Or tell the tale of Theban arms; With other wars my song shall burn, For other wounds my harp shall mourn. 'Twas not the crested warrior's dart,...
We read the flying courser's name Upon his side, in marks of flame; And, by their turbaned brows alone, The warriors of the East are known. But in the lover's glowing eyes, The inlet to his bosom lies;...
As, by his Lemnian forge's flame, The husband of the Paphian dame Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm; And Venus, as he plied his art,...
'Twas in a mocking dream of night-- I fancied I had wings as light As a young birds, and flew as fleet; While Love, around whose beauteous feet, I knew not why, hung chains of lead,...
Armed with hyacinthine rod, (Arms enough for such a god,) Cupid bade me wing my pace, And try with him the rapid race. O'er many a torrent, wild and deep,...
Strew me a fragrant bed of leaves, Where lotus with the myrtle weaves; And while in luxury's dream I sink, Let me the balm of Bacchus drink! In this sweet hour of revelry...
'Twas noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away; An infant, at that dreary hour,...
Oh thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect, that delight'st to rest Upon the wild wood's leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song with such a glee,...
How I love the festive boy, Tripping through the dance of joy! How I love the mellow sage, Smiling through the veil of age! And whene'er this man of years In the dance of joy appears,...
If hoarded gold possest the power To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, And purchase from the hand of death A little span, a moment's breath, How I would love the precious ore!...
'Twas night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warmed my thirsty soul; As lulled in slumber I was laid, Bright visions o'er my fancy played. With maidens, blooming as the dawn,...
Let us drain the nectared bowl, Let us raise the song of soul To him, the god who loves so well The nectared bowl, the choral swell; The god who taught the sons of earth...
At Deildar-Tongue in the autumn-tide, So many times over comes summer again, Stood Odd of Tongue his door beside. What healing in summer if winter be vain? Dim and dusk the day was grown,...