#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
When Man, expell’d from Eden’s bo… A moment linger’d near the gate, Each scene recall’d the vanish’d h… And bade him curse his future fate… But, wandering on through distant…
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fir… With bright, but mild affection sh… Though they might kindle less desi… Love, more than mortal, would be t… For thou art form’d so heavenly fa…
No specious splendour of this ston… Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone, And blushes modest as the giver. Some, who can sneer at friendship’…
Good plays are scarce: So Moore writes farce. The poet’s fame grows brittle— We knew before That Little’s Moore,
THOUGH the day of my destiny’s… And the star of my fate hath decli… Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could fin… Though thy soul with my grief was…
In law an infant, and in years a b… In mind a slave to every vicious j… From every sense of shame and virt… In lies an adept, in deceit a fien… Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a c…
Ye scenes of my childhood, whose l… Embitters the present, compar’d wi… Where science first dawn’d on the… And friendships were form’d, too r… Where fancy, yet, joys to retrace…
To the tune of ‘Why, how now, sau… Why, how now, saucy Tom? If you thus must ramble, I will publish some Remarks on Mister Campbell.
When some proud son of man returns… Unknown to glory, but upheld by bi… The sculptor’s art exhausts the po… And storied urns record who rest b… When all is done, upon the tomb is…
Oh when shall the grave hide for e… Oh when shall my soul wing her fli… The present is hell, and the comin… But brings, with new torture, the… From my eye flows no tear, from my…
The ‘Origin of Love!’—Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may’st read in many an e… He starts to life on seeing thee? And should’st thou seek his end to…
Without a stone to mark the spot, And say, what Truth might well ha… By all, save one, perchance forgot… Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid? By many a shore and many a sea
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Since our Country, our God—Oh, m… Demand that thy Daughter expire; Since thy triumph was brought by t… Strike the bosom that’s bared for… And the voice of my mourning is o’…
‘Away, away, your fleeting arts May now betray some simpler hearts… And you will smile at their believ… And they shall weep at your deceiv… ANSWER TO THE FOREGO…
