Stanzas to a Friend
AH! think no more that Life’s delusive joys, Can charm my thoughts from FRIENDSHIP’S dearer claim; Or wound a heart, that scarce a wish employs, For age to censure, or discretion blame. Tir’d of
The Haunted Beach
Upon a lonely desart Beach Where the white foam was scatter’d, A little shed uprear’d its head Though lofty Barks were shatter’d. The Sea-weeds gath’ring near the door, A sombre path display’d; And, all
Ode to the Nightingale
SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! why complain In such soft melody of Song, That ECHO, am’rous of thy Strain, The ling’ring cadence doth prolong? Ah! tell me, tell me, why, Thy dulcet Notes ascend the
The Fortune-Teller, a Gypsy Tale
LUBIN and KATE, as gossips tell, Were Lovers many a day; LUBIN the damsel lov’d so well, That folks pretend to say The silly, simple, doting Lad, Was little less than loving mad: A
Pastoral Stanzas
WHEN AURORA’S soft blushes o’erspread the blue hill, And the mist dies away at the glances of morn; When the birds join the music that floats on the rill, And the beauties of spring
Sonnet XXXVIII: Oh Sigh
Oh Sigh! thou steal’st, the herald of the breast, The lover’s fears, the lover’s pangs to tell; Thou bid’st with timid grace the bosom swell, Cheating the day of joy, the night of rest!
Sonnet XXIII: To Aetna's Scorching Sands
To AEtna’s scorching sands my Phaon flies! False Youth! can other charms attractive prove? Say, can Sicilian loves thy passions move, Play round thy heart, and fix thy fickle eyes, While in despair the
The Lascar
I. “Another day, Ah! me, a day “Of dreary Sorrow is begun! “And still I loath the temper’d ray, “And still I hate the sickly Sun! “Far from my Native Indian shore, “I hear
Sonnet XL: On the Low Margin
On the low margin of a murm’ring stream, As rapt in meditation’s arms I lay; Each aching sense in slumbers stole away, While potent fancy form’d a soothing dream; O’er the Leucadian deep, a
The Granny Grey, a Love Tale
DAME DOWSON, was a granny grey, Who, three score years and ten, Had pass’d her busy hours away, In talking of the Men! They were her theme, at home, abroad, At wake, and by
Sonnet I: Favour'd by Heav'n
Favour’d by Heav’n are those, ordain’d to taste The bliss supreme that kindles fancy’s fire; Whose magic fingers sweep the muses’ lyre, In varying cadence, eloquently chaste! Well may the mind, with tuneful numbers
Sonnet XXVIII: Weak Is the Sophistry
Weak is the sophistry, and vain the art That whispers patience to the mind’s despair! That bids reflection bathe the wounds of care, While Hope, with pleasing phantoms, soothes their smart. For mem’ry still,
The Poor Singing Dame
Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle, For many a year, with brown ivy o’erspread; A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising, Defied the wild winds that howl’d over its
All Alone
I. Ah! wherefore by the Church-yard side, Poor little LORN ONE, dost thou stray? Thy wavy locks but thinly hide The tears that dim thy blue-eye’s ray; And wherefore dost thou sigh, and moan,
To Leonardo
“Yes, LAURA, yes, pure as the virgin snow’s “That on the bosom of the whirlwind move,, “For thee my faithful endless passion glows.” – LEONARDO TO LAURA. COLD blows the wind upon the mountain’s