Hail! Heavenly Maid, my pensive mind, Invokes thy woe-subduing strain; For there a shield my soul can find, Which subjugates each dagger'd pain. When beauty spurns the lover's sighs,...
Fair flower! that fall'n beneath the angry blast, Which marks with wither'd sweets its fearful way, I grieve to see thee on the low earth cast, While beauty's trembling tints fade fast away....
Fair flower! that fall'n beneath the angry blast, Which marks with wither'd sweets its fearful way, I grieve to see thee on the low earth cast, While beauty's trembling tints fade fast away....
Come long-lost blessing! heaven-lov'd seraph, haste, On pity's wings upborne, a world's wide woes Invoke thy smiles extatic, long effac'd, Beneath the tear which all corrosive flows;...
"Why, there's Peace, Jack, come damme let's push round the grog, And awhile altogether in good humor jog, For they say we shall soon go ashore; Where the anchor of friendship may drift or be lost,...
A parson once--and poorer he Than ever parson ought to be; Yet not so proud as some from College, Who fancy they alone have knowledge; Who only learn to dress and drink,...
Sweet are the hours when roseate spring With health and joy salutes the day. When zephyr, borne on wanton wing, Soft whispering, wakes the blushing May. Sweet are the hours, yet not so sweet...
Hail, lovely morn! and thou, all-beauteous sea! Sun-sparkling with the diamond's countless rays: Thy look, how tranquil, one eternal calm, Which seems to woo the troubled soul to peace!...
Lives there who, with unhallow'd hand, would tear, One leaf from that immortal wreath which shades The Hero's living brow, or decks his urn? Breathes there who does not triumph in the thought...
Once more Britannia sheathes her conqu'ring sword, And Peace returns, by Victory restored; Peace, that erewhile estranged, 'midst long alarms, Scarce welcomed home, was ravish'd from our arms;...
Can it be true, so fragrant and so fair, To give thy perfumes to the dews of night? Can aught so beautiful, despise the glare, And fade, and sicken in the morning light? ...
Come away, come away, little fly! Don't disturb the sweet calm of lore's nest; If you do, I protest you shall die, And your tomb be that beautiful breast. Don't tickle the girl in her sleep,...
So stood the Sibyl: stream'd her hoary hair Wild as the blast, and with a comet's glare Glow'd her red eye-balls 'midst the sunken gloom Of their wild orbs, like death-fires in a tomb....
Say, dark prow'd visitant! that o'er the brine Stalk'st proudly--heeding not what wind may blow, What chart, what compass, shapes that course of thine, Whence didst thou come, and whither dost thou go? ...