Stranger, stay, nor wish to climb The heights of yonder hills sublime; For there strange shapes and spirits dwell,[1] That oft the murmuring thunders swell, Of power from the impending steep...
The Norman armament beneath thy rocks, St Valerie, Is moored; and, streaming to the morn, three hundred banners fly, Of crimson silk; with golden cross, effulgent o'er the rest,...
By thy habitation dread, In the valley of the dead, Where no sun, nor day, nor night, Breaks the red and dusky light; By the grisly troops, that ride, Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,--...
What pale and bleeding youth, whilst the fell blast Howls o'er the wreck, and fainter sinks the cry Of struggling wretches ere, o'erwhelmed, they die, Yet floats upborne upon the driving mast!...
The moonlight is without; and I could lose An hour to gaze, though Taste and Splendour here, As in a lustrous fairy palace, reign! Regardless of the lights that blaze within,...
Smooth went our boat upon the summer seas, Leaving, for so it seemed, the world behind, Its sounds of mingled uproar: we, reclined Upon the sunny deck, heard but the breeze...
This poem was first published under the name of "One of the Living Poets of Great Britain." I have thought it best to revise and publish it in my own name, and as it is the last written by me, and the last I may ever live to wr...
While summer airs scarce breathe along the tide, Oft pausing, up the mountain's craggy side We climb, how beautiful, how still, how clear, The scenes that stretch around! The rocks that rear...
Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in, Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din, But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease...
So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade, Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, The pleasing pictures of the present fade, And like a summer vapour steal away! ...