Mortal! who, armed with holy fortitude, The path of good right onward hast pursued; May HE, to whose eternal throne on high The sufferers of the earth with anguish cry, Be thy protector! On that dreary road...
Farewell! a long farewell! O Poverty, Affection's fondest dream how hast thou reft! But though, on thy stern brow no trace is left Of youthful joys, that on the cold heart die,...
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,...
There is but one stage more in life's long way, O widowed women! Sadly upon your path Hath evening, bringing change of scenes and friends, Descended, since the morn of hope shone 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 -...
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...
Here stood the city of the dead; look round - Dost thou not mark a visionary band, Druids and bards upon the summits stand, Of the majestic and time-hallowed mound?...
Artist, I own thy genius; but the touch May be too restless, and the glare too much: And sure none ever saw a landscape shine, Basking in beams of such a sun as thine, But felt a fervid dew upon his phiz,...
O sovereign Master! who with lonely state Dost rule as in some isle's enchanted land, On whom soft airs and shadowy spirits wait, Whilst scenes of "faerie" bloom at thy command,...
The wild pear whispers, and the ivy crawls, Along the circuit of thine ancient walls, Lone city of the dead! and near this mound,[200] The buried coins of mighty men are found,...
What various objects strike with various force, Achilles, Hebe, and Sir Watkin's horse! Here summer scenes, there Pentland's stormy ridge, Lords, ladies, Noah's ark, and Cranford bridge!...
How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill, To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again The upland breeze, the comfortable sun,...
Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain, And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain! ...