When erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue The terrible tale of Thalaba sung-- Of him, the Destroyer, doomed to rout That grim divan of conjurors out, Whose dwelling dark, as legends say,...
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. ...
As vanquished Erin wept beside The Boyne's ill-fated river, She saw where Discord, in the tide, Had dropt his loaded quiver. "Lie hid," she cried, "ye venomed darts, "Where mortal eye may shun you;...
Yes, Winchelsea (I tremble while I pen it), Winehelsea's Earl hath cut the British Senate-- Hath said to England's Peers, in accent gruff, "That for ye all"[snapping his fingers] and exit in a huff! ...
"I authorized my Committee to take the step which they did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understanding that whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest, should give way to the other."...
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly today, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away,...
The brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts without Caring who feels 'em; But the soft eye of blue, Tho' it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals 'em--...
Here I am, at headquarters, dear Terry, once more, Deep in Tory designs, as I've oft been before: For, bless them! if 'twasn't for this wrong-headed crew, You and I, Terry Alt, would scarce know what to do;...
Sir--A well-known classical traveller, while employed in exploring, some time since, the supposed site of the Temple of Diana of Ephesus, was so fortunate, in the course of his researches, as to light upon a very ancient bark m...
Come o'er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine thro' sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes. Let fate frown on, so we love and part not;...
Dreaming for ever, vainly dreaming, Life to the last, pursues its flight; Day hath its visions fairly beaming, But false as those of night. The one illusion, the other real,...
When wearied wretches sink to sleep, How heavenly soft their slumbers lie! How sweet is death to those who weep, To those who weep and long to die! ...
Though sorrow long has worn my heart; Though every day I've, counted o'er Hath brought a new and, quickening smart To wounds that rankled fresh before;
What news to-day?--"Oh! worse and worse-- "Mac[1] is the Prince's Privy Purse!"-- The Prince's Purse! no, no, you fool, You mean the Prince's Ridicule.
Said his Highness to Ned,[1] with that grim face of his, "Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic Neddy?" "Because, Sir," said Ned, looking full in his phiz, "You're forbidding enough, in all conscience, already!"
"I want the Court Guide," said my lady, "to look "If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30. or 20."-- "We've lost the Court Guide, Ma'am, but here's the Red Book....