'Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee, Was a Siren of old, who sung under the sea; And who often, at eve, thro' the bright waters roved, To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she loved....
Yes, sad one of Sion,[1] if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heart-- If drinking deep, deep, of the same "cup of trembling" Could make us thy children, our parent thou art, ...
"To Panurge was assigned the Laird-ship of Salmagundi, which was yearly worth 6,789,106,789 ryals besides the revenue of the Locusts and Periwinkles, amounting one year with another to the value of 2,485,768," etc.--RABELAIS....
To the people of England, the humble Petition Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing-- That sad, very sad, is our present condition;-- Our jobbing all gone and our noble selves going;-- ...
Still thus, when twilight gleamed, Far off his Castle seemed, Traced on the sky; And still, as fancy bore him. To those dim towers before him, He gazed, with wishful eye;...
Being weary of love, I flew to the grove, And chose me a tree of the fairest; Saying, "Pretty Rose-tree, "Thou my mistress shall be, "And I'll worship each bud thou bearest....
Tho' dark are our sorrows, to-day we'll forget them, And smile thro' our tears, like a sunbeam in showers: There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them, More formed to be grateful and blest than ours....
There are sounds of mirth in the night-air ringing, And lamps from every casement shown; While voices blithe within are singing, That seem to say "Come," in every tone....
There comes a time, a dreary time, To him whose heart hath flown O'er all the fields of youth's sweet prime, And made each flow its own. 'Tis when his soul must first renounce...
"I trust we shall part as we met, in peace and charity. My last payment to you paid your salary up to the 1st of this month. Since that, I owe you for one month, which, being a long month, of thirty-one days, amounts, as near a...
There is a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary-- What may that Desert be? 'Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come...
There's something strange, I know not what, Come o'er me, Some phantom I've for ever got Before me. I look on high and in the sky 'Tis shining; On earth, its light with all things bright...
Fleetly o'er the moonlight snows Speed we to my lady's bower; Swift our sledge as lightning goes, Nor shall stop till morning's hour. Bright, my steed, the northern star...