Morning
O’ER fallow plains and fertile meads, AURORA lifts the torch of day; The shad’wy brow of Night recedes, Cold dew-drops fall from every spray; Now o’er the thistle’s rugged head, Thin veils of filmy
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
Ode to Della Crusca
ENLIGHTEN’D Patron of the sacred Lyre? Whose ever-varying, ever-witching song Revibrates on the heart With magic thrilling touch, Till ev’ry nerve with quiv’ring throb divine, In madd’ning tumults, owns thy wondrous pow’r; For well
Ode to Meditation
SWEET CHILD OF REASON! maid serene; With folded arms, and pensive mien, Who wand’ring near yon thorny wild, So oft, my length’ning hours beguil’d; Thou, who within thy peaceful call, Canst laugh at LIFE’S
Sonnet XLII: Oh! Canst Thou Bear
Oh! can’st thou bear to see this faded frame, Deform’d and mangled by the rocky deep? Wilt thou remember, and forbear to weep, My fatal fondness, and my peerless fame? Soon o’er this heart,
Sonnet XXXI: Far O'er the Waves
Far o’er the waves my lofty Bark shall glide, Love’s frequent sighs the flutt’ring sails shall swell, While to my native home I bid farewell, Hope’s snowy hand the burnis’d helm shall guide! Triton’s
Sonnet XXII: Wild Is the Foaming Sea
Wild is the foaming Sea! The surges roar! And nimbly dart the livid lightnings round! On the rent rock the angry waves rebound; Ah me! the less’ning bark is seen no more! Along the
Ode to the Muse
O, let me seize thy pen sublime That paints, in melting dulcet rhyme, The glowing pow’r, the magic art, Th’ extatic raptures of the Heart; Soft Beauty’s timid smile serene, The dimples of Love’s
The Reply to Time
O TIME, forgive the mournful song That on thy pinions stole along, When the rude hand of pain severe Chas’d down my cheek the burning tear; When sorrow chill’d each warm desire That kindles
Sonnet VI: Is It to Love
Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze, To hide the timid blush, and steal away; To shun the busy world, and waste the day In some rude mountain’s solitary maze? Is it
Sonnet XXVII: Oh! Ye Bright Stars
Oh! ye bright Stars! that on the Ebon fields Of Heav’n’s empire, trembling seems to stand; ‘Till rosy morn unlocks her portal bland, Where the proud Sun his fiery banner wields! To flames, less
Sonnet XIV: Come, Soft Aeolian Harp
Come, soft Aeolian harp, while zephyr plays Along the meek vibration of thy strings, As twilight’s hand her modest mantle brings, Blending with sober grey, the western blaze! O! prompt my Phaon’s dreams with
Poor Marguerite
Swift, o’er the wild and dreary waste A NUT-BROWN GIRL was seen to haste; Wide waving was her unbound hair, And sun-scorch’d was her bosom bare; For Summer’s noon had shed its beams While
Stanzas
WHEN fragrant gales and summer show’rs Call’d forth the sweetly scented flow’rs; When ripen’d sheaves of golden grain, Strew’d their rich treasures o’er the plain; When the full grape did nectar yield, In tepid
Sonnet XXX: O'er the Tall Cliff
O’er the tall cliff that bounds the billowy main Shad’wing the surge that sweeps the lonely strand, While the thin vapours break along the sand, Day’s harbinger unfolds the liquid plain. The rude Sea