Ye Bards in all your thousand dens, Great souls with fewer pence than pens, Sublime adorers of Apollo, With folios full, and purses hollow; Whose very souls with rapture glisten,...
To thee, O Albion! be the tribute paid Which sympathy demands, the patriot tear; While echo'd forth to thy remotest shade, Rebellion's menace sounds in every ear. ...
Sweet Insect! that on two small wings doth fly, And, flying, carry on those wings yourself; Methinks I see you, looking from your eye, As tho' you thought the world a wicked elf....
Dearest love! when thy God shall recall thee, Be this record inscribed on thy tomb: Truth, and gratitude, well may applaud thee, And all thy past virtues relume. ...
Lady! who didst--with angel-look and smile, And the sweet lustre of those dear, dark eyes, Gracefully bend before the font of Christ, In humble adoration, faith, and prayer!...
Come, gentle sleep! thou soft restorer, come, And close these wearied eyes, by grief oppress'd; For one short hour, be this thy peaceful home, And bid the sighs that rend my bosom rest. ...
When first the infant bird attempts to fly, And cautious spreads its pinions to the sky, Each happy breeze the timid trav'ller cheers, Assists its efforts, and allays its fears;...
Genius of England! wherefore to the earth Is thy plumed helm, thy peerless sceptre cast? Thy courts of late with minstrelsy and mirth Rang jubilant, and dazzling pageants past;...
Bring the sad cypress wreath to grace the tomb, Where rests the liberal friend of human kind, Around its base let deathless flow'rets bloom, Wet with the off'rings of the grateful mind. ...
Madam! when sorrowing o'er the virtuous dead, The gentlest solace of the tears we shed, Is, to surviving excellence to turn, And honour there those merits that we mourn. ...
Sons of Renown! ye heirs of matchless fame, Whose Sires in Glory's path victorious fell; Adding new honors to the British name, That future ages shall with transport tell. ...
Ill-fated hour! oft as thy annual reign Leads on th' autumnal tide, my pinion'd joys Fade with the glories of the fading year; "Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train,"...
Ill-Fated hour! oft as thy annual reign Leads on th'autumnal tide, my pinion'd joys Fade with the glories of the fading year; "Remembrance 'wakes with all her busy train,"...
By the trim taper, and the blazing hearth, (While loud without the blast of winter sung), Now thrill'd with awe, and now relax'd with mirth, Paris, I've roam'd thy varied haunts among,...
Oh! had'st thou, Jove! with adamantine locks Fix'd fast the springs of poor Pandora's box, Then had she, bright enchantment! bloom'd for ever In all the charms consenting Gods could give her--...
Mute, memory stands, at valor's awful shrine, In tears Britannia mourns her hero dead; A world's regret, brave Abercrombie's thine. For nature sorrow'd as thy spirit fled! ...