Childe Harold - Canto IV - Verse 178
#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Saint Peter sat by the celestial… His keys were rusty, and the lock… So little trouble had been given o… Not that the place by any means wa… But since the Gallic era 'eight-e…
These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense love ora… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee The heart of which thou bled’st is… Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeedin… Oh, Mariamne! where art thou?
Though the day of my destiny’s ove… 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…
Sons of the Greeks, arise! The glorious hour’s gone forth, And, worthy of such ties, Display who gave us birth. CHORUS.
Thy cheek is pale with thought, bu… And yet so lovely, that if Mirth… Its rose of whiteness with the bri… My heart would wish away that rude… And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes—…
I Read the 'Christabel’; Very well: I read the Missionary’; Pretty - very I tried at Ilderim ;
Titan! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despi… What was thy pity’s recompense?
Good plays are scarce: So Moore writes farce. The poet’s fame grows brittle— We knew before That Little’s Moore,
When coldness wraps this suffering… Ah! whither strays the immortal mi… It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darken’d dust behin… Then, unembodied, doth it trace
There be none of Beauty’s daughte… With a magic like Thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing
Father of Light! great God of He… Hear’st thou the accents of despai… Can guilt like man’s be e’er forgi… Can vice atone for crimes by praye… Father of Light, on thee I call!
When amatory poets sing their love… In liquid lines mellifluously blan… And pair their rhymes as Venus yo… They little think what mischief is… The greater their success the wors…
A year ago, you swore, fond she! ‘To love, to honour,’ and so forth… Such was the vow you pledged to me… And here’s exactly what 'tis worth…
'Tis done——and shivering in the ga… The bark unfurls her snowy sail; And whistling o’er the bending mas… Loud sings on high the fresh’ning… And I must from this land be gone…