I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near. And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world, "A heart that was humble might hope for it here!"...
Down in yon summer vale, Where the rill flows. Thus said a Nightingale To his loved Rose:-- "Tho' rich the pleasures "Of song's sweet measures, "Vain were its melody, "Rose, without thee."...
By the hope within us springing, Herald of to-morrow's strife; By that sun, whose light is bringing Chains or freedom, death or life-- Oh! remember life can be No charm for him, who lives not free!...
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly today, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away,...
The brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts without Caring who feels 'em; But the soft eye of blue, Tho' it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals 'em--...
The song that lightens the languid way, When brows are glowing, And faint with rowing, Is like the spell of Hope's airy lay, To whose sound thro' life we stray; The beams that flash on the oar awhile,...
Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee, All thou hast ever prized or loved,...
Bright moon, that high in heaven art shining, All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night Thy own Endymion lay reclining, And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light!--...
Bring the bright garlands hither, Ere yet a leaf is dying; If so soon they must wither. Ours be their last sweet sighing. Hark, that low dismal chime! 'Tis the dreary voice of Time....
But who shall see the glorious day When, throned on Zion's brow, The LORD shall rend that veil away Which hides the nations now?[1] When earth no more beneath the fear Of this rebuke shall lie;[2]...
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er,[2] Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young St. Kevin stole to sleep. "Here, at least," he calmly said, "Woman ne'er shall find my bed."...
Calm be thy sleep as infant's slumbers! Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! May every joy this bright world numbers Shed o'er thee their mingled beams! Or if, where Pleasure's wing hath glided,...
Here I am, at headquarters, dear Terry, once more, Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been before: For, bless them! if 'twasn't for this wrong-headed crew, You and I, Terry Alt, would scarce know what to do;...
A hunter once in that grove reclined, To shun the noon's bright eye, And oft he wooed the wandering wind, To cool his brow with its sigh, While mute lay even the wild bee's hum,...
I have a garden of my own, Shining with flowers of every hue; I loved it dearly while alone, But I shall love it more with you: And there the golden bees shall come, In summer-time at break of morn,...
Sir--A well-known classical traveller, while employed in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Temple of Diana of Ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark m...
Come, chase that starting tear away, Ere mine to meet it springs; To-night, at least, to-night be gay, Whate'er to-morrow brings. Like sunset gleams, that linger late When all is darkening fast,...