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FRAGMENT ON THE BACK OF THE MS. OF CANTO I.
THE PROLOGUE.
Should you ask me, whence these stories?
MY lov’d, my honour’d, much respected friend!
AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS, AUTHOR OF ENDYMION, HYPERION, ETC. Aster prin men elampes eni zooisin Eoos nun de thanon lampeis Esperos en phthimenois.--PLATO. I weep for Adonais--he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our tears...
I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung By one man's disobedience lost, now sing Recovered Paradise to all mankind, By one man's firm obedience fully tried Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed,...
Soon as the twilight through the distant mist In silver hemmings skirts the purple east, Ere yet the sun unveils his smiles to view And dries the morning's chilly robes of dew, Young Hodge the horse-boy, with a soodly gait,...
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still-- My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrain'd to love thee.
Is it a party in a parlour, Crammed just as they on earth were crammed, Some sipping punch--some sipping tea; But, as you by their faces see, All silent, and all--damned! "Peter Bell", by W. WORDSWORTH. OPHELIA.--What means this, my lord?
1 BROTHER of all, with generous hand, Of thee, pondering on thee, as o’er thy tomb, I and my Soul, A thought to launch in memory of thee, A burial verse for thee. What may we chant, O thou within this tomb?
Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory and of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, and the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth-- The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above...
How sweetly shines, through azure skies, The lamp of Heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more!
January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues and gates, The years that through my portals come and go.
O Sovereign power of love!
Once, early in the morning, Beelzebub arose, With care his sweet person adorning, He put on his Sunday clothes.
What a pretty tale you told me Once upon a time --Said you found it somewhere (scold me!) Was it prose or was it rhyme, Greek or Latin? Greek, you said, While your shoulder propped my head.
In these gay thoughts the Loves and Graces shine, And all the writer lives in every line; His easy art may happy nature seem, Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through my soul! Thou standest, smiling Down on me!
By that he ended had his ghostly sermon, The fox was well induc'd to be a parson, And of the priest eftsoons gan to inquire, How to a benefice he might aspire.
1 Lo dм che han detto a' dolci amici addio. - Dante Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!
SCENE I.--_A ruinous chateau on the Silesian frontier of Bohemia_. THE storm is at it's height--how the wind howls, Like an unearthly voice, through these lone chambers! And the rain patters on the flapping casement Which quivers in it's frame--the...
LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.
A Poem upon the Death of His Late Highness the Lord Protector That Providence which had so long the care Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair, Now in itself (the glass where all appears) Had seen the period of...
_(As distinguished by an Italian person of quality.)_ Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city square; Ah, such a life, such a life, as...