The young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, Was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft, by the moon, o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. ...
They tell me thou'rt the favored guest Of every fair and brilliant throng; No wit like thine to wake the jest, No voice like thine to breathe the song; And none could guess, so gay thou art,...
This life is all checkered with pleasures and woes, That chase one another like waves of the deep,-- Each brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep....
This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-- There's nothing true but Heaven! ...
Tho' humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command: Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,...
Tho' lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, Tho' like the lark's its soaring music be, Thou'lt find even here some mournful note that tells How near such April joy to weeping dwells....
Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells, Of youth and home and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime.
Tho' the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom shall still be my home, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we room. ...
Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best, And still, when happiest, soonest o'er, Yet, even in a dream, to be blest Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. The bosom that opes With earliest hopes,...
Thou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee In other days ere joy had left this brow; But think, tho' still unchanged the notes may be, How different feels the heart that breathes them now!...
What, thou, my friend! a man of rhymes, And, better still, a man of guineas, To talk of "patrons," in these times, When authors thrive like spinning-jennies, And Arkwright's twist and Bulwer's page...
I sat me down in my easy chair, To read, as usual, the morning papers; But--who shall describe my look of despair, When I came to Lefroy's "destructive" capers! That he--that, of all live men, Lefroy...
Oft have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride Two stately steeds--standing, with graceful straddle, Like him of Rhodes, with foot on either saddle,...
Too plain, alas, my doom is spoken Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o'er; Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, Thou lovest no more--thou lovest no more.
If life for me hath joy or light, 'Tis all from thee, My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, Are but of thee, of only thee. Whate'er of hope or peace I know, My zest in joy, my balm in woe,...
'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead-- When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, Looked upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled....