Robert Southey
Sonnet 07
(to the rainbow) Mild arch of promise! on the evening sky Thou shinest fair with many a lovely ray Each in the other melting. Much mine eye Delights to linger on thee; for the
Ariste
Let ancient stories round the painter’s art, Who stole from many a maid his Venus’ charms, Till warm devotion fired each gazer’s heart And every bosom bounded with alarms. He culled the beauties of
Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet V
Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword Of Vengeance? drench’d he deep its thirsty blade In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord? Oh! who shall blame him? thro’ the midnight
Sonnet 08
With many a weary step, at length I gain Thy summit, Lansdown; and the cool breeze plays, Gratefully round my brow, as hence the gaze Returns to dwell upon the journeyed plain. ‘Twas a
The Curse of Kehama
I charm thy life, From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent’s tooth, And the beast of blood. From sickness I charm thee, And
The Battle of Blenheim
It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar’s work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw
Hold your mad hands
Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood? For ever must your Niger’s tainted flood, Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold
Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet I
Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood? For ever must your Nigers tainted flood Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold
Inscription 01 – For A Tablet At Godstow Nunnery
Here Stranger rest thee! from the neighbouring towers Of Oxford, haply thou hast forced thy bark Up this strong stream, whose broken waters here Send pleasant murmurs to the listening sense: Rest thee beneath
Hymn To The Penates
Yet one Song more! one high and solemn strain Ere PAEAN! on thy temple’s ruined wall I hang the silent harp: there may its strings, When the rude tempest shakes the aged pile, Make
The Old Man's Comforts and how he gained them
You are old, Father William, the young man cried, The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man, Now tell me the reason I pray.
Go, Valentine
Go, Valentine, and tell that lovely maid Whom fancy still will portray to my sight, How here I linger in this sullen shade, This dreary gloom of dull monastic night; Say, that every joy
Inscription 02 – For A Column At Newbury
Art thou a Patriot Traveller? on this field Did FALKLAND fall the blameless and the brave Beneath a Tyrant’s banners: dost thou boast Of loyal ardor? HAMBDEN perish’d here, The rebel HAMBDEN, at whose
Winter
A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee, Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey As the long moss upon the apple-tree; Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose, Close muffled up, and
The Soldier's Wife
Weary way-wanderer languid and sick at heart Travelling painfully over the rugged road, Wild-visag’d Wanderer! ah for thy heavy chance! Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed, Cold is the baby that hangs