A book came forth of late, called PETER BELL; Not negligent the style; the matter? good As aught that song records of Robin Hood; Or Roy, renowned through many a Scottish dell;...
Survey my Features, you will own it clear That little skill has been exerted here. My Friends, who know me not here smile to see How ill the model and the work agree.
Survey my Features--you will own it clear That little skill has been exerted here. My Friends, who know me not here smile to see How ill the model and the work agree.
Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas, Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri, Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus;...
Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos Ausus es infandum perfide Fauxe nefas, Fallor? an & mitis voluisti ex parte videri, Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus;...
The men who here in harness died Fell not in vain, though in defeat. They by their end well fortified The Cause, and built retreat (With memory of their valor tried)...
One says he is immoral, and points out Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his soul: Bigot, one folly of the man you flout Is more to God than thy lean life is whole.
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord, And with stiff Vowes renounc'd his Liturgie To seise the widdow'd whore Pluralitie From them whose sin ye envi'd, not abhor'd,...
As when the strong stream of a wintering sea Rolls round our coast, with bodeful breaks of storm, And swift salt rain, and bitter wind that saith Wild things and woeful of the White South Land...
Ay, man is manly. Here you see The warrior-carriage of the head, And brave dilation of the frame; And lighting all, the soul that led In Spottsylvania's charge to victory, Which justifies his fame....
Ye sister Pow'rs who o'er the sacred groves Preside, and, Thou, fair mother of them all Mnemosyne,1 and thou, who in thy grot Immense reclined at leisure, hast in charge...
Ye sister Pow'rs who o'er the sacred groves Preside, and, Thou, fair mother of them all Mnemosyne,[1] and thou, who in thy grot Immense reclined at leisure, hast in charge...
Such wast thou: now in earth below, Dust and a skeleton thou art. Above thy bones and clay, Here vainly placed by loving hands, Sole guardian of memory and woe, The image of departed beauty stands....
Beautiful Boy--thy heavenward thoughts Are pictured in thine eyes, Thou hast no taint of mortal birth, Thy communing is not of earth, Thy holy musings rise: Like incense kindled from on high,...
O I admire and sorrow! The heart's eye grieves Discovering you, dark tramplers, tyrant years. A juice rides rich through bluebells, in vine leaves, And beauty's dearest veriest vein is tears.