M'cenas, from Etrurian Princes sprung, For whom my golden lyre I strung, Friend, Patron, Guardian of its rising song, O mark the Youth, that towers along, With triumph in his air;...
My Phidyle, retir'd in shady wild, If thou thy virgin hands shalt suppliant raise, If primal fruits are on thy altars pil'd, And incense pure thy duteous care conveys,...
Sweet Phyllis, leave thy quiet home, For lo! the ides of April come! Then hasten to my bower; A cask of rich Albanian wine, In nine years mellowness, is mine, To glad the festal hour. ...
Where do ye rush, ye impious Trains, Why gleams afar the late-sheath'd sword? Is it believ'd that Roman veins Their crimson tides have sparely pour'd? Is not our scorn of safety, health, and ease,...
Lyre of the Sonnet, that full many a time Amus'd my lassitude, and sooth'd my pains, When graver cares forbade the lengthen'd strains, To thy brief bound, and oft-returning chime...
To The Right Honourable Lady Marianne Carnegie, passing her winters at Ethic House on the Coast of Scotland, with her Father, Lord Northesk, who retired thither after the death of his excellent Countess. ...
In the chill silence of the winter eve, Thro' Lichfield's darken'd streets I bend my way By that sad mansion, where NERINA's Clay Awaits the MORNING KNELL; - and awed perceive,...
Thy GENIUS, Colebrooke, faithless to his charge, Amid thy woods and vales, thy rocks and streams, Form'd for the Train that haunt poetic dreams, Naiads, and Nymphs, - now hears the toiling Barge...
Disciple of the bright Aonian Maid In thy life's blossom, a resistless spell Amid the wild wood, and irriguous dell, O'er thymy hill, and thro' illumin'd glade, Led thee, for her thy votive wreaths to braid,...
Prais'd be the Poet, who the Sonnet's claim, Severest of the orders that belong Distinct and separate to the Delphic Song, Shall venerate, nor its appropriate name Lawless assume. Peculiar is its frame,...
Time, and thy charms, thou fanciest will redeem Yon aweless Libertine from rooted vice. Misleading thought! has he not paid the price, His taste for virtue? - Ah, the sensual stream...
Cou'd aweful Johnson want poetic ear, Fancy, or judgment? - no! his splendid strain, In prose, or rhyme, confutes that plea. - The pain Which writh'd o'er Garrick's fortunes, shows us clear...
Lo! modern Critics emulously dare Ape the great Despot; throw in pompous tone And massy words their true no meaning down! But while their envious eyes on Genius glare,...
He found her not; - yet much the POET found, To swell Imagination's golden store, On Arno's bank, and on that bloomy shore, Warbling Parthenope; in the wide bound,...
Yon late but gleaming Moon, in hoary light Shines out unveil'd, and on the cloud's dark fleece Rests; - but her strengthen'd beams appear to increase The wild disorder of this troubled Night....
Round Cleon's brow the Delphic laurels twine, And lo! the laurel decks Amanda's breast! Charm'd shall he mark its glossy branches shine On that contrasting snow; shall see express'd...
In this chill morning of a wintry Spring I look into the gloom'd and rainy vale; The sullen clouds, the stormy winds assail, Lour on the fields, and with impetuous wing...
My hour is not yet come! - these burning eyes Have not yet look'd their last! - else, 'mid the roar Of this wild STORM, what gloomy joy to pour My freed, exhaling Soul! - sublime to rise,...