#EnglishWriters
Beneath the hedge or near the stre… A worm is known to stray, That shows by night a lucid beam, Which disappears by day. Disputes have been and still preva…
There is a book, which we may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small; The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things numerous it con…
Thy country, Wilberforce, with ju… Hears thee, by cruel men and impio… Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th’… From exile, public sale, and slav’… Friend of the poor, the wrong’d, t…
Airy del Castro was as bold a kni… As ever earned a lady’s love in fi… Many he sought, but one above the… His tender heart victoriously impr… In fairy land was born the matchle…
There’s not an echo round me, But I am glad should learn, How pure a fire has found me, The love with which I burn. For none attends with pleasure
His master taken from his head, Elisha saw him go; And in desponding accents said, “Ah, what must Israel do?” But he forgot the Lord who lifts
My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. Ah, whither shall I fly?
There is in souls a sympathy with… And as the mind is pitch’d the ear… With melting airs, or martial, bri… Some chord in unison with what we… Is touch’d within us, and the hear…
My rose, Gravina, blooms anew; And steeped not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by you, Will never fade again.
Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on His wings; When comforts are declining,
The nymph must lose her female fri… If more admired than she, - But where will fierce contention e… If flowers can disagree? Within the garden’s peaceful scene
Mycilla dyes her locks, ’tis said: But ’tis a foul aspersion; She buys them black; they therefor… No subsequent immersion.
There is a fountain fill’d with bl… Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that… Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoiced to see
The lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rehearses; Still closing with a rueful cry, ‘Was ever such a wretch as I!’ Yes! thousands have endured before
In vain to live from age to age While modern bards endeavour, I write my name in Patty’s page, And gain my point for ever.