Sweet friend, the world, like some fair infant blessed, Radiant with sportive grace, around thee plays; Yet 'tis not as depicted in thy breast Not as within thy soul's fair glass, its rays...
Gay visions for thee 'neath hope's pencil have glowed, Peace dwells in thy bosom, a guileless abode; Thou hast seen the bright side of existence alone, And believ'st every spirit as pure as thine own....
O Friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,...
Joy to thee, Lady! many years of joy To thee--and thine--that springtide of the heart, The bliss of virtuous love, without alloy. And all that health and gladsome life impart....
Lady unknown! a pilgrim from the shrine Of Poesy's fair temple, brings a wreath Which fame and gratitude alike entwine, Around a name that charms the monster Death,...
Here is one leaf reserved for me, From all thy sweet memorials free; And here my simple song might tell The feelings thou must guess so well. But could I thus, within thy mind,...
See you, beneath yon cloud so dark, Fast gliding along a gloomy bark? Her sails are full,--though the wind is still, And there blows not a breath her sails to fill! ...
Once fondly lov'd and still remember'd dear; Sweet early object of my youthful vows! Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, Friendship! 'tis all cold duty now allows. ...
While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport, Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign! Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line Unfolding, did not fruitlessly exhort...
Among the heathy hills and ragged woods The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods; Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds,...
I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek Who can no longer dream; But now am all behindhand, waxen weak, And dazed amid so many things that gleam Yet are not what they seem. ...
Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, Yet at the last, with his masters around him, He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave....
"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad, On this glittering morn of May?" "I'm going to join the Colours, Dad; They're looking for men, they say." "But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;...
The spring is coming by a many signs; The trays are up, the hedges broken down, That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines Like some old antique fragment weathered brown....