Yes; you contemn the perjur'd maid Who all your favorite hopes betray'd: Nor, though her heart should home return, Her tuneful tongue it's falsehood mourn, Her winning eyes your faith implore,...
Oh fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien; And, meditating plagues unseen, The sorceress hither bends: Behold her torch in gall imbrued: Behold'her garment drops with blood Of lovers and of friends....
While yet the world was young, and men were few, Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew, In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd, Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd:...
If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell' What fair can Amoret excel?...
The Shape alone let others prize, The Features of the Fair; I look for Spirit in her Eyes, And Meaning in her Air. A Damask Cheek, an Iv'ry Arm, Shall ne'er my Wishes win, Give me an animated Form,...
Thou, who the verdant plain dost traverse here While Thames among his willows from thy view Retires; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene Around contemplate well. This is the place...
To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot,...
Such was old Chaucer. such the placid mien Of him who first with harmony inform'd The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. these ancient walls...
Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known, Too long to Love hath reason left her throne; Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain, And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain....
Whither did my fancy stray? By what magic drawn away Have I left my studious theme? From this philosophic page, From the problems of the sage, Wandering thro' a pleasing dream?...
Come then, tell me, sage divine, Is it an offence to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward immortal glory's throne? For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,...
Come then, tell me, sage divine, Is it an offense to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward immortal glory's throne? For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,...
No, foolish youth, To virtuous fame If now thy early hopes be vow'd, If true ambition's nobler flame Command thy footsteps from the croud, Lean not to love's inchanting snare;...
Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's hill, Once more I seek, a languid guest: With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. O faithful cure of oft-returning ill,...
O youths and virgins: o declining eld: O pale misfortune's slaves: o ye who dwell Unknown with humble quiet; ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings:...