Lines to the memory of Richard Boyle, Esq

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1. Elegy to the Memory of Richard Boyle, Esq NEAR yon bleak mountain’s dizzy height, That hangs o’er AVON’s silent wave; By the pale Crescent’s glimm’ring light, I sought LORENZO’s lonely grave. O’er the long grass the silv’ry dew, Soft Twilight’s tears spontaneous shone; And the dank bough of baneful yew Supply’d the place of sculptured stone. Oft, as my trembling steps drew near, […]...
2. Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle IV, To Richard Boyle Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe jocoso, Defendente vicem modo Rhetoris atque Poetae, Interdum urbani, parcentis viribus, atque Extenuantis eas consulto. (Horace, Satires, I, x, 17-22) ‘Tis strange, the miser should his cares employ To gain those riches he can ne’er […]...
3. Elegy to the Memory of Werter “With female Fairies will thy tomb be haunted “And worms will not come to thee.” SHAKSPERE. WHEN from Day’s closing eye the lucid tears Fall lightly on the bending lily’s head; When o’er the blushing sky night’s curtains spread, And the tall mountain’s summit scarce appears; When languid Evening, sinking to repose, Her filmy mantle […]...
4. Monody to the Memory of Chatterton Chill penury repress’d his noble rage, And froze the genial current of his soul. GRAY. IF GRIEF can deprecate the wrath of Heaven, Or human frailty hope to be forgiven! Ere now thy sainted spirit bends its way To the bland regions of celestial day; Ere now, thy soul, immers’d in purest air Smiles at […]...
5. Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady What beck’ning ghost, along the moon-light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? ‘Tis she! but why that bleeding bosom gor’d, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in heav’n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To […]...
6. Lines Written Beneath An Elm In The Churchyard Of Harrow Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: Oh! as I trace again […]...
7. Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill And thou wert sad-yet I was not with thee! And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near; Methought that joy and health alone could be Where I was not-and pain and sorrow here. And is it thus?-it is as I foretold, And shall be more so; for the mind recoils Upon itself, and […]...
8. 123. Lines to an Old Sweetheart 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. And when you read the simple artless rhymes, One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more, Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes, Or haply lies beneath […]...
9. Elegy to the Memory of David Garrick, Esq DEAR SHADE OF HIM, who grac’d the mimick scene, And charm’d attention with resistless pow’r; Whose wond’rous art, whose fascinating mien, Gave glowing rapture to the short-liv’d hour! Accept the mournful verse, the ling’ring sigh, The tear that faithful Mem’ry stays to shed; The SACRED TEAR, that from Reflection’s eye, Drops on the ashes of […]...
10. Last Lines Jan 7th A dreadful darkness closes in On my bewildered mind; O let me suffer and not sin, Be tortured yet resigned. Through all this world of whelming mist Still let me look to Thee, And give me courage to resist The Tempter till he flee. Weary I am O give me strength And leave […]...
11. Lines to Him Who Will Understand Them THOU art no more my bosom’s FRIEND; Here must the sweet delusion end, That charm’d my senses many a year, Thro’ smiling summers, winters drear.­ O, FRIENDSHIP! am I doom’d to find Thou art a phantom of the mind? A glitt’ring shade, an empty name, An air-born vision’s vap’rish flame? And yet, the dear DECEIT […]...
12. To Memory Strange Power, I know not what thou art, Murderer or mistress of my heart. I know I’d rather meet the blow Of my most unrelenting foe Than live – as now I live – to be Slain twenty times a day by thee. Yet, when I would command thee hence, Thou mockest at the vain […]...
13. Sonnet XXXV: Some, Misbelieving To Miracle Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t’express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One […]...
14. In Memory of Walter Savage Landor Back to the flower-town, side by side, The bright months bring, New-born, the bridegroom and the bride, Freedom and spring. The sweet land laughs from sea to sea, Filled full of sun; All things come back to her, being free; All things but one. In many a tender wheaten plot Flowers that were dead Live, […]...
15. Lines Written From Home Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strown, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan; There is a friendly roof, I know, Might shield me from the wintry blast; There is a fire, whose ruddy glow Will cheer me for my wanderings past. And […]...
16. Sonnet 04 What tho’ no sculptur’d monument proclaim Thy fate-yet Albert in my breast I bear Inshrin’d the sad remembrance; yet thy name Will fill my throbbing bosom. When DESPAIR The child of murdered HOPE, fed on thy heart, Loved honored friend, I saw thee sink forlorn Pierced to the soul by cold Neglect’s keen dart, And […]...
17. To His Noble Friend, Mr. Richard Lovelace, Upon His Poems Sir, Our times are much degenerate from those Which your sweet muse with your fair fortune chose, And as complexions alter with the climes, Our wits have drawn the infection of our times. That candid age no other way could tell To be ingenious, but by speaking well. Who best could praise had then the […]...
18. In Memory I Serene and beautiful and very wise, Most erudite in curious Grecian lore, You lay and read your learned books, and bore A weight of unshed tears and silent sighs. The song within your heart could never rise Until love bade it spread its wings and soar. Nor could you look on Beauty’s face before […]...
19. Orinda upon Little Hector Philips Twice forty months of Wedlock did I stay, Then had my vows crown’d with a Lovely boy, And yet in forty days he dropt away, O swift Visissitude of humane joy. I did but see him and he dis-appear’d, I did but pluck the Rose-bud and it fell, A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely fear’d, For […]...
20. Elegy on the Death of Lady Middleton THE knell of death, that on the twilight gale, Swells its deep murmur to the pensive ear; In awful sounds repeats a mournful tale, And claims the tribute of a tender tear. The dreadful hour is past! the mandate giv’n! The gentle MIDDLETON shall breathe no more, Yet who shall blame the wise decrees of […]...
21. In Memory of F. P If I could ever write a lasting verse, It should be laid, deare Sainte, upon thy herse. But Sorrow is no muse, and doth confesse That it least can what most it would expresse. Yet, that I may some bounds to griefe allow, I’le try if I can weepe in numbers now. Ah beauteous blossom! […]...
22. 173. Elegy on Stella STRAIT is the spot and green the sod From whence my sorrows flow; And soundly sleeps the ever dear Inhabitant below. Pardon my transport, gentle shade, While o’er the turf I bow; Thy earthy house is circumscrib’d, And solitary now. Not one poor stone to tell thy name, Or make thy virtues known: But what […]...
23. Richard It’s mid-winter and the sunrise knows it, and wakes me With a shudder; I’m just a man. For 5 cold mornings in a row, the beautiful pheasant Has come to our patio to steal some of the dry catfood, Sometimes right in front of my cat. The house is still, and I enjoy the Sunday […]...
24. Lines Written by the Side of a River FLOW soft RIVER, gently stray, Still a silent waving tide O’er thy glitt’ring carpet glide, While I chaunt my ROUNDELAY, As I gather from thy bank, Shelter’d by the poplar dank, King-cups, deck’d in golden pride, Harebells sweet, and daisies pied; While beneath the evening sky, Soft the western breezes fly. Gentle RIVER, should’st thou […]...
25. To The Pious Memory Of The Accomplished Young Lady Mrs. Anne Killigrew Thou youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Made in the last promotion of the Blest; Whose palms, new pluck’d from Paradise, In spreading branches more sublimely rise, Rich with immortal green above the rest: Whether, adopted to some neighbouring star, Thou roll’st above us, in thy wand’ring race, Or, in procession fix’d and regular, Mov’d with […]...
26. To The Memory Of Mr Oldham Farewell, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own; For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike. To the same goal did both […]...
27. On the Religious Memory of Mrs. Catherine Thomson, my Christian Friend, Deceased Dec. 16, 1646 When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as […]...
28. To The Memory Of My Beloved, The Author, Mr William Shakespeare, And What He Hath Left Us To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither Man nor Muse can praise too much. ‘Tis true, and all men’s suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance […]...
29. 233. Song-O were I on Parnassus Hill O, WERE I on Parnassus hill, Or had o’ Helicon my fill, That I might catch poetic skill, To sing how dear I love thee! But Nith maun be my Muse’s well, My Muse maun be thy bonie sel’, On Corsincon I’ll glowr and spell, And write how dear I love thee. Then come, sweet […]...
30. Memory Of Sun Memory of sun seeps from the heart. Grass grows yellower. Faintly if at all the early snowflakes Hover, hover. Water becoming ice is slowing in The narrow channels. Nothing at all will happen here again, Will ever happen. Against the sky the willow spreads a fan The silk’s torn off. Maybe it’s better I did […]...
31. To the Memory of Mrs. Lefroy who died Dec:r 16 my Birthday The day returns again, my natal day; What mix’d emotions with the Thought arise! Beloved friend, four years have pass’d away Since thou wert snatch’d forever from our eyes. The day, commemorative of my birth Bestowing Life and Light and Hope on me, Brings back the hour which was thy last on Earth. Oh! bitter […]...
32. Lines WHEN the lamp is shatter’d, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scatter’d, The rainbow’s glory is shed; When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remember’d not When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart’s […]...
33. 450. Monody on a Lady, famed for her Caprice HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired, How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glisten’d; How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, How dull is that ear which to flatt’ry so listen’d! If sorrow and anguish their exit await, From friendship and dearest affection remov’d; How doubly severer, Maria, […]...
34. Sonnet to Evening [Written under a tree in the woods of St. Amand, in Flanders.] SWEET BALMY HOUR! ­dear to the pensive mind, Oft have I watch’d thy dark and weeping shade, Oft have I hail’d thee in the dewy glade, And drop’d a tear of SYMPATHY refin’d. When humming bees, hid in their golden bow’rs, Sip the […]...
35. An Hymn To Humanity (To S. P. G. Esp) O! for this dark terrestrial ball Forsakes his azure-paved hall A prince of heav’nly birth! Divine Humanity behold, What wonders rise, what charms unfold At his descent to earth! II. The bosoms of the great and good With wonder and delight he view’d, And fix’d his empire there: Him, close compressing to his breast, The […]...
36. Lines in Praise of Professor Blackie Alas! the people’s hearts are now full of sorrow For the deceased Professor Blackie, of Edinboro’; Because he was a Christian man, affable and kind, And his equal in charitable actions would be hard to find ‘Twas in the year of 1895, March the 2nd, he died at 10 o’clock. Which to his dear wife, […]...
37. 320. Lines to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart THOU, who thy honour as thy God rever’st, Who, save thy mind’s reproach, nought earthly fear’st, To thee this votive offering I impart, The tearful tribute of a broken heart. The Friend thou valued’st, I, the Patron lov’d; His worth, his honour, all the world approved: We’ll mourn till we too go as he has […]...
38. In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory I Now that we’re almost settled in our house I’ll name the friends that cannot sup with us Beside a fire of turf in th’ ancient tower, And having talked to some late hour Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed: Discoverers of forgotten truth Or mere companions of my youth, All, all are […]...
39. Lines For Winter Tell yourself As it gets cold and gray falls from the air That you will go on Walking, hearing The same tune no matter where You find yourself Inside the dome of dark Or under the cracking white Of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow. Tonight as it gets cold Tell yourself What […]...
40. 365. Lines on Fergusson, the Poet ILL-FATED genius! Heaven-taught Fergusson! What heart that feels and will not yield a tear, To think Life’s sun did set e’er well begun To shed its influence on thy bright career. O why should truest Worth and Genius pine Beneath the iron grasp of Want and Woe, While titled knaves and idiot-Greatness shine In all […]...