How has New England's romance fled, Even as a vision of the morning! Its rites foredone, its guardians dead, Its priestesses, bereft of dread, Waking the veriest urchin's scorning!...
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour, There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power; And there are tears, too--tears that Memory sheds Even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads,...
Dear native regions, I foretell, From what I feel at this farewell, That, wheresoe'er my steps may tend, And whensoe'er my course shall end, If in that hour a single tie Survive of local sympathy,...
The feeble sea-birds, blinded in the storms, On some tall lighthouse dash their little forms, And the rude granite scatters for their pains Those small deposits that were meant for brains....
O! were I one of the Olympian twelve, Their godships should pass this into law, That when a man doth set himself in toil After some beauty veiled far away, Each step he took should make his lady's hand...
It is a summer evening, calm and fair, A warm, yet freshening glow is in the air; Along its bank, the cool stream wanders slow, Like parting friends that linger as they go....
The shadow of the houses leave behind, In the cool boscage of the grove reclined, The wine of friendship from love's goblet drink, And entertain with cheerful speech the mind.
Thro' Manchester Square took a canter just now-- Met the old yellow chariot[1] and made a low bow. This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,...
How eloquent are eyes! Not the rapt poet's frenzied lay When the soul's wildest feelings stray Can speak so well as they. How eloquent are eyes! Not music's most impassioned note...
The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter 'Little Prig; Bun replied, 'You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together,...
Where Kings have been by mob-elections Raised to the throne, 'tis strange to see What different and what odd perfections Men have required in Royalty....
I've had a dream that bodes no good Unto the Holy Brotherhood. I may be wrong, but I confess-- As far as it is right or lawful For one, no conjurer, to guess-- It seems to me extremely awful. ...
Of all that, to the sage's survey, This world presents of topsy-turvy, There's naught so much disturbs one's patience, As little minds in lofty stations....
The money raised--the army ready-- Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy Valiantly braying in the van, To the old tune ""Eh, eh, Sire 'ne!"[1]-- Naught wanting, but some coup dramatic,...
Tho' soldiers are the true supports, The natural allies of Courts, Woe to the Monarch, who depends Too much on his red-coated friends; For even soldiers sometimes think--...
Novella, a young Bolognese, The daughter of a learned Law Doctor,[1] Who had with all the subtleties Of old and modern jurists stockt her, Was so exceeding fair, 'tis said,...