To know just how he suffered would be dear; To know if any human eyes were near To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze, Until it settled firm on Paradise.
A stream to mingle with your favorite Dee Along the Vale of Meditation flows; So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see In Nature's face the expression of repose,...
"Tunnebridge est ' la m'me distance de Londres, que Fontainebleau l'est de Paris. Ce qu'il y a de beau et de galant dans l'un et dans l'autre sexe s'y rassemble au terns des eaux. La compagnie," etc....
Gift of the Hero, on his dying day, To her, whose pity watched, for ever nigh; Oh! could he see the proud, the happy ray, This relic lights up on her generous eye, Sighing, he'd feel how easy 'tis to pay...
Oh albums, albums, how I dread Your everlasting scrap and scrawl! How often wish that from the dead Old Omar would pop forth his head, And make a bonfire of you all!...
Fair inmate of these ivied walls, beneath Whose silent cloisters Ella sleeps in death, Let loftier bards, in rich and glowing lays, Thy gentleness, thy grace, thy virtue praise!...
When o'er the chords thy fingers stray, My spirit leaves its mortal clay, A statue there I stand; Thy spell controls e'en life and death, As when the nerves a living breath...
Seek not, for thou shalt not find it, what my end, what thine shall be; Ask not of Chaldaea's science what God wills, Leuconoe: Better far, what comes, to bear it. Haply many a wintry blast...
Seek not to learn - Leucono', - a mortal may not know - What term of life on you or me our deities bestow. The Babylonian soothsayer consult not; better bear...
Among the numbers who employ Their tongues and pens to give you joy, Dear Harley! generous youth, admit What friendship dictates more than wit. Forgive me, when I fondly thought...
O loveliest face, on which we look our last - Not without hope we may again behold Somewhere, somehow, when we ourselves have passed Where, Lucy, you have gone, this face so dear,...
Lyce, the gods have listened to my prayer; The gods have listened, Lyce. Thou art grey, And still would'st thou seem fair; Still unshamed drink, and play, ...
M'cenas, scion of Tyrrhenian rulers, A jar, as yet unpierced, of mellow wine Long waits thee here, with balm for thee made ready And blooming roses in thy locks to twine. ...
Thou art indeed a lovely flower, And I, just like the fleeting hour, Which few will heed on folly's brink, So rarely deigns the world to think. Yet, ere I go, child of my heart--...
1. How, my dear Mary, are you critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review, That you condemn these verses I have written, Because they tell no story, false or true?...