Alone in crowds to wander on, And feel that all the charm is gone Which voices dear and eyes beloved Shed round us once, where'er we roved-- This, this the doom must be...
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. ...
Oh, fair as heaven and chaste as light! Did nature mould thee all so bright. That thou shouldst e'er be brought to weep O'er languid virtue's fatal sleep,...
Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee, All thou hast ever prized or loved,...
But who shall see the glorious day When, throned on Zion's brow, The LORD shall rend that veil away Which hides the nations now?[1] When earth no more beneath the fear Of this rebuke shall lie;[2]...
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er,[2] Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young St. Kevin stole to sleep. "Here, at least," he calmly said, "Woman ne'er shall find my bed."...
Come, send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment's a flower too fair and brief, To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools....
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;
Last night, as lonely o'er my fire I sat, Thinking of cues, starts, exits, and--all that, And wondering much what little knavish sprite Had put it first in women's heads to write:--...
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour, There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power; And there are tears, too--tears that Memory sheds Even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads,...
The money raised--the army ready-- Drums beating, and the Royal Neddy Valiantly braying in the van, To the old tune ""Eh, eh, Sire 'ne!"[1]-- Naught wanting, but some coup dramatic,...
Fare thee well, thou lovely one! Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love's sweet life is o'er. Thy words, what e'er their flattering spell, Could scarce have thus deceived;...
Farewell!--but whenever you welcome the hour. That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you....
Fear not that, while around thee Life's varied blessings pour, One sigh of hers shall wound thee, Whose smile thou seek'st no more. No, dead and cold for ever Let our past love remain;...
From life without freedom, say, who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Hark!--hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave....
Go, let me weep--there's bliss in tears, When he who sheds them inly feels Some lingering stain of early years Effaced by every drop that steals. The fruitless showers of worldly woe...