Perish! Almighty Justice cried, And struck the avenging blow, And Europe shouts from side to side, The tyrant is laid low! Said not his heart, More blood shall stream Around my sovereign throne?...
Lo! where youth and beauty lie, Cold within the tomb! As the spring's first violets die, Withered in their bloom. O'er the young and buried bride, Let the cypress wave:...
How shall I praise thee, Beaumont, whose nice skill Can mould the soft and shadowy scene at will; Chastise to harmony each gaudy ray, Simple, yet grand, the mountain scene display;...
Beautiful landscape! I could look on thee For hours, unmindful of the storm and strife, And mingled murmurs of tumultuous life. Here, all is still as fair; the stream, the tree,...
Fountain, that sparklest through the shady place, Making a soft, sad murmur o'er the stones That strew thy lucid way! Oh, if some guest Should haply wander near, with slow disease...
Nay, let us gaze, ev'n till the sense is full, Upon the rich creation, shadowed so That not great Nature, in her loftiest pomp Of living beauty, ever on the sight Rose more magnificent; nor aught so fair...
Oh, Mary, when distress and anguish came, And slow disease preyed on thy wasted frame; When every friend, ev'n like thy bloom, was fled, And Want bowed low thy unsupported head;...
Yes, Pamela, this infant tree Planted in sacred earth by thee, Shall strike its root, and pleasant grow Whilst I am mouldering dust below. This churchyard turf shall still be green,...
Alas, poor Sheridan! when first we met, 'Twas 'mid a smiling circle, and thine eye, That flashed with eloquent hilarity And playful fancy, I remember yet Freshly as yesterday. The gay and fair,...
Sainted old man, for more than eighty years, Thee - tranquilly and stilly-creeping - age, Led to the confines of the sepulchre, And thy last day on earth - but "Father - Lord -...
Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice Didst soothe me, bidding my poor heart rejoice, Though smitten sore: Oh, I did little think...
When will the grave shelter thy few gray hairs, O aged man! Thy sand is almost run, And many a year, in vain, to meet the sun, Thine eyes have rolled in darkness; want and cares...