'Tis night: the busy, ceaseless noise of day No more is heard; the now-deserted-streets Lie dark and silent; London's weary swarms Rest in profound repose. Hark! a loud cry...
When to the region of the tuneful Nine, Rapt in poetic vision, I retire, Listening intent to catch the strain divine What a dead silence hangs upon the lyre! ...
Still, still his bell-like voice rings through my head; Yet not one bright thought cheers my mental view; O! would that I were deaf, asleep, or dead! Ye marble statues! how I envy you! ...
Thou able, boaster! Virgil to translate! Can'st thou, then, be so vain, so shallow-pated? To a far higher intellectual state, Coxcomb! thou must, thyself, be first translated.
Satan, says scripture, like a roaring lion, Goes about, seeking whom he may devour. What should a priest, then, chiefly keep his eye on? To guard his flock against the tempter's power....
Too long within the House has darkness dwelt, Egyptian darkness, by the nation felt; Therefore, though demagogues, whose deeds are ill, For blind debate might love that darkness still,...
Your book I've read: I would that I had not! For what instruction, pleasure, have I got? Amid that artful labyrinth of doubt Long, long I wander'd, striving to get out;...
Critic! should I vouchsafe to learn of thee, Correct, no doubt, but cold my strains would be: Now, cold correctness! I despise the name; Is that a passport through the gates of fame?...