When by my solitary hearth I sit, And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;...
Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy harp, And play to me so cheerily; For grief is dark, and care is sharp, And life wears on so wearily. Oh! take thy harp! Oh! sing as thou wert wont to do,...
Two Suns of Love make day of human life, Which else with all its pains, and griefs, and deaths, Were utter darkness'one, the Sun of dawn That brightens thro' the Mother's tender eyes,...
Our Poet, who has taught the Western breeze To waft his songs before him o'er the seas, Will find them wheresoe'er his wanderings reach Borne on the spreading tide of English speech...
Spouse of penniless Ibycus, Thus late, bring to a close all thy delinquencies, All thy studious infamy:- Nearing swiftly the grave - (that not an early one) -...
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...
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!...
Our glasses we lift now and drink to our host! "Hurrah!" Give heed to our ditty, we sing you our toast! "Aha!" The first thing appearing is what he was nearing,...
O Goudie! terror of the Whigs, Dread of black coats and rev'rend wigs, Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girnin', looks back, Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues Wad seize you quick. ...
Friend, whom thy fourscore winters leave more dear Than when life's roseate summer on thy cheek Burned in the flush of manhood's manliest year, Lonely, how lonely! is the snowy peak...
Kinsman beloved, and as a son, by me! When I behold the fruit of thy regard, The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, I reverence feel for him, and love for thee:...
Health to the Maxwell's vet'ran chief! Health, ay unsour'd by care or grief: Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf This natal morn; I see thy life is stuff o' prief, Scarce quite half worn. ...
Poet of mighty power, I fain Would court the muse that honoured thee, And, like Elisha's spirit, gain A part of thy intensity; And share the mantle which she flung Around thee, when thy lyre was strung....
When Time was entwining the garland of years, Which to crown my beloved was given, Though some of the leaves might be sullied with tears, Yet the flowers were all gathered in heaven. ...