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_Rosalind_. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller; Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will...
my sweet Sister! if a name Dearer and purer were, it should be thine. Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim No tears, but tenderness to answer mine: Go where I will, to me thou art the same-- A...
CHORUS OF ATHENIANS. Ye shades, where sacred truth is sought; Groves, where immortal sages taught: Where heavenly visions Plato fired, And Epicurus' lay inspired; In vain your guiltless laurels stood Unspotted long with human blood. War, horrid war, your thoughtful...
The death-bell beats!-- The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; And the dark Monk now Wraps the cowl round his brow, As he sits in his lonely cell.
Tu semper amoris Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago. 'Argonaut', iv. Friend of my youth! when young we rov'd, Like striplings, mutually belov'd, With Friendship's purest glow; The bliss, which wing'd those rosy hours, Was such as Pleasure...
Gay was the Maid of Ocram As lady eer might be Ere she did venture past a maid To love Lord Gregory. Fair was the Maid of Ocram And shining like the sun Ere her bower key was turned on...
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King, And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.
By the old tavern door on the causey there lay A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray, And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop; And there stood...
SATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE IMITATED. There are (I scarce can think it, but am told) There are, to whom my satire seems too bold: Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough, And something said of Chartres much too rough.
Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its walls on either side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk...
In the year since Jesus died for men, Eighteen hundred years and ten, We were a gallant company, Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea. but we went merrily!
I had eight birds hatched in one nest, Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.
Supper removed, the mother sits, And tells her tales by starts and fits.
THE PROLOGUE. When that the Knight had thus his tale told In all the rout was neither young nor old, That he not said it was a noble story, And worthy to be drawen to memory; And namely the gentles every one.
Yet, Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying, Streams like a thunder-storm against the wind.--BYRON. A glorious people vibrated again The lightning of the nations: Liberty From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain, Scattering contagious fire into the sky, Gleamed.
TO mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings; The genial call dead Nature hears, And in her glory reappears. But oh, my Country's wintry state What second spring shall renovate?
"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself." ['Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best, Flat on his belly in the pit's much mire, With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin, And,...
Like the vain Curlings of the Watry maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking Weight does raise; So Man, declining alwayes, disappears. In the Weak Circles of increasing Years; And his short Tumults of themselves Compose, While flowing Time above his Head does close.
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis, Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies. Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. "O Cжsar, we who are about to die Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry In the arena, standing face to face With death and with the Roman populace.
It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven More perfectly will give those nameless joys Which throb within the pulses of the blood And sweeten all that bitterness which Earth Infuses in the heaven-born soul.
You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his yoke, too; So here's the tale from beginning to end, My friend!
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When Fortune left the royal Swede-- Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to combat and to bleed.
THE PROLOGUE.
Why should my anxious breast repine, Because my youth is fled? Days of delight may still be mine; Affection is not dead.