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Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vows, and in devotion.
Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts, Live not through the waste of time! Love's rose a host of thorns invests; Cold, ungenial is the clime, Where its honours blow. Youth says, 'The purple flowers are mine,' Which die the while they glow.
Full of rebellion, I would die, Or fight, or travel, or deny That thou has aught to do with me. O tame my heart; It is thy highest art To captivate strong holds to thee.
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand?
Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil, Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake, Lighting the hour of sacred love; more sweet Than the...
A faithless shepherd courted me, He stole away my liberty. When my poor heart was strange to men, He came and smiled and stole it then. When my apron would hang low, Me he sought through frost and snow.
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who profanest The wreath to mighty poets only due, Even whilst like a forgotten moon thou wanest?
A THOUGHT ay like a flower upon mine heart, And drew around it other thoughts like bees For multitude and thirst of sweetnesses; Whereat rejoicing, I desired the art Of the Greek whistler, who to wharf and mart Could lure...
Whate'er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee?
This Chasm, Sweet, upon my life I mention it to you, When Sunrise through a fissure drop The Day must follow too. If we demur,...
When Dryden's fool, "unknowing what he sought," His hours in whistling spent, "for want of thought," This guiltless oaf his vacancy of sense Supplied, and amply too, by innocence: Did modern swains, possessed of Cymon's powers, In Cymon's manner waste...
A pleasing form; a firm, yet cautious mind; Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd: Honour unchanged, a principle profess'd, Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest: An honest courtier, yet a patriot too; Just to his prince, and...
As from an ancestral oak Two empty ravens sound their clarion, Yell by yell, and croak by croak, When they scent the noonday smoke Of fresh human carrion:-- As two gibbering night-birds flit From their bowers of deadly yew Through...
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it; when the meadows laugh...
I hated thee, fallen tyrant! I did groan To think that a most unambitious slave, Like thou, shouldst dance and revel on the grave Of Liberty.
How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness everywhere!
My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor, Still gazing at them through the open...
1 IN former songs Pride have I sung, and Love, and passionate, joyful Life, But here I twine the strands of Patriotism and Death. And now, Life, Pride, Love, Patriotism and Death, To you, O FREEDOM, purport of all!
The cat runs races with her tail. The dog Leaps oer the orchard hedge and knarls the grass. The swine run round and grunt and play with straw, Snatching out hasty mouthfuls from the stack. Sudden upon the elmtree tops...
FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.
Maids shout to breakfast in a merry strife, And the cat runs to hear the whetted knife, And dogs are ever in the way to watch The mouldy crust and falling bone to catch.
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last, Was Time long past.
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full character'd with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain, Beyond all date; even to eternity: Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature...