Lines inscribed to P. de Loutherbourg, Esq. R. A
WHERE on the bosom of the foamy RHINE, In curling waves the rapid waters shine; Where tow’ring cliffs in awful grandeur rise, And midst the blue expanse embrace the skies; The wond’ring eye beholds
To the Myrtle
UNFADING branch of verdant hue, In modest sweetness drest, Shake off thy pearly tears of dew, And decorate my breast. Dear emblem of the constant mind, Truth’s consecrated tree, Still shall thy trembling blossoms
The Fugitive
Oft have I seen yon Solitary Man Pacing the upland meadow. On his brow Sits melancholy, mark’d with decent pride, As it would fly the busy, taunting world, And feed upon reflection. Sometimes, near
Sonnet XXI: Why Do I Live
Why do I live to loath the cheerful day, To shun the smiles of Fame, and mark the hours On tardy pinions move, while ceaseless show’rs Down my wan cheek in lucid currents stray?
Ode to Reflection
O THOU, whose sober precepts can controul The wild impatience of the troubled soul, Sweet Nymph serene! whose all-consoling pow’r Awakes to calm delight the ling’ring hour; O hear thy suppliant’s ardent pray’r! Chase
Golfre, Gothic Swiss Tale
I. Where freezing wastes of dazzl’ing Snow O’er LEMAN’S Lake rose, tow’ring; The BARON GOLFRE’S Castle strong Was seen, the silv’ry peaks among, With ramparts, darkly low’ring! Tall Battlements of flint, uprose, Long shadowing
Ode to Melancholy
SORC’RESS of the Cave profound! Hence, with thy pale, and meagre train, Nor dare my roseate bow’r profane, Where light-heel’d mirth despotic reigns, Slightly bound in feath’ry chains, And scatt’ring blisses round. Hence, to
Lines to the memory of Richard Boyle, Esq
“Fate snatch’d him early to the pitying sky.” – POPE. IF WORTH, too early to the grave consign’d, Can claim the pitying tear, or touch the mind? If manly sentiments unstain’d by art, Could
Sonnet II: High on a Rock
High on a rock, coaeval with the skies, A Temple stands, rear’d by immortal pow’rs To Chastity divine! ambrosial flow’rs Twining round icicles, in columns rise, Mingling with pendent gems of orient dyes! Piercing
Ode to Valour
Inscribed to Colonel Banastre Tarleton] TRANSCENDENT VALOUR! godlike Pow’r! Lord of the dauntless breast, and stedfast mien! Who, rob’d in majesty sublime, Sat in thy eagle-wafted car, And led the hardy sons of war,
Sonnet XXXIV: Venus! To Thee
Venus! to thee, the Lesbian Muse shall sing, The song, which Myttellenian youths admir’d, When Echo, am’rous of the strain inspir’d, Bade the wild rocks with madd’ning plaudits ring! Attend my pray’r! O! Queen
Lewin and Gynneth
“WHEN will my troubled soul have rest?” The beauteous LEWIN cried; As thro’ the murky shade of night With frantic step she hied. “When shall those eyes my GYNNETH’S face, My GYNNETH’S form survey?
Sonnet XIII: Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls, A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair The costly band of studded gems prepare, Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls: Love, o’er my head
Ode to Health
Come, bright-eyed maid, Pure offspring of the tranquil mind, Haste, my fev’rish temples bind With olive wreaths of em’rald hue Steep’d in morn’s ethereal dew, Where in mild HELVETIA’s shade, Blushing summer round her
The Hermit of Mont-Blanc
High, on the Solitude of Alpine Hills, O’er-topping the grand imag’ry of Nature, Where one eternal winter seem’d to reign; An HERMIT’S threshold, carpetted with moss, Diversified the Scene. Above the flakes Of silv’ry