"What hast thou seen in the olden time, Dark ruin, lone and gray?" "Full many a race from thy native clime, And the bright earth, pass away. The organ has pealed in these roofless aisles,...
Young Naiad of the sparry grot, Whose azure eyes before me burn, In what sequestered lonely spot Lies hid thy flower-enwreathed urn? Beneath what mossy bank enshrined, Within what ivy-mantled nook,...
The harvest is nodding on valley and plain, To the scythe and the sickle its treasures must yield; Through sunshine and shower we have tended the grain; 'Tis ripe to our hand!--to the field--to the field!...
I know a cliff, whose steep and craggy brow O'erlooks the troubled ocean, and spurns back The advancing billow from its rugged base; Yet many a goodly rood of land lies deep...