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Soliloquy of a Bard in the Country
'Twas now the noon of night, and all was still, Except a hapless Rhymer and his quill. In vain he calls each Muse in order down, Like other females, these will sometimes frown; He frets, be fumes, and
57. Holy Willie’s Prayer
O THOU, who in the heavens does dwell, Who, as it pleases best Thysel’, Sends ane to heaven an’ ten to hell, A’ for Thy glory, And no for ony gude or ill They’ve done a
A Tale (Epilogue to "The Two Poets of Croisic.")
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. Anyho
Up at a Villa--Down in the City
_(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,
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
CANTO THE FIRST. TO IANTHE. Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed, Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which i
Manhattan Streets I Saunter’d, Pondering.
1 MANHATTAN’S streets I saunter’d, pondering, On time, space, reality—on such as these, and abreast with them, prudence. 2 After all, the last explanation remains to be made about prudence; Little an
Ode on Venice
Oh Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls Are level with the waters, there shall be A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls, A loud lament along the sweeping sea! If I, a northern wanderer, weep for
The Bour-Tree Den
CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, Down by the braes and the grey sea-side; Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn! Loud on the causey, saft on the sand, Round they rade
The Irish Avatar
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave, And her ashes still float to their home o'er the tide, Lo! George the triumphant speeds over the wave, To the long-cherished Isle which he loved l
Hiawatha's Childhood
Downward through the evening twilight, In the days that are forgotten, In the unremembered ages, From the full moon fell Nokomis, Fell the beautiful Nokomis, She a wife, but not a mother. She was spor
The Devil's Walk. a Ballad
Once, early in the morning, Beelzebub arose, With care his sweet person adorning, He put on his Sunday clothes. He drew on a boot to hide his hoof, He drew on a glove to hide his claw, His horns were
Epistle From Mr. Murray to Dr. Polidori
DEAR Doctor, I have read your play, Which is a good one in its way,-- Purges the eyes, and moves the bowels, And drenches handkerchiefs like towels With tears, that, in a flux of grief, Afford hysteri
The Canterbury Tales. The Second Nun's Tale
The minister and norice unto vices, Which that men call in English idleness, The porter at the gate is of delices; T'eschew, and by her contrar' her oppress, -- That is to say, by lawful business, --
Lara.
CANTO THE FIRST. The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, And Slavery half forgets her feudal chain; He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord, The long self-exiled Chieftain, is restored: There
The Fens
Wandering by the river's edge, I love to rustle through the sedge And through the woods of reed to tear Almost as high as bushes are. Yet, turning quick with shudder chill, As danger ever does from il
The Retrospect: Cwm Elan, 1812
A scene, which 'wildered fancy viewed In the soul's coldest solitude, With that same scene when peaceful love Flings rapture's colour o'er the grove, When mountain, meadow, wood and stream With unallo
The Rape of the Lock:
AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM. 'Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos; Sed juvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.' MART. TO MRS ARABELLA FERMOR. CANTO I. What dire offence from amorous causes spring
On Receipt Of My Mother's Picture
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine--thy own sweet smiles I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fa
The Canterbury Tales. The Friar's Tale.
THE PROLOGUE. This worthy limitour, this noble Frere, He made always a manner louring cheer Upon the Sompnour; but for honesty No villain word as yet to him spake he: But at the last he said unto the
Winter.
THE FOURTH PASTORAL, OR DAPHNE. TO THE MEMORY OF MRS TEMPEST. LYCIDAS. Thyrsis, the music of that murmuring spring Is not so mournful as the strains you sing; Nor rivers winding through the vales b
The Morgante Maggiore of Pulci
CANTO THE FIRST. In the beginning was the Word next God; God was the Word, the Word no less was He: This was in the beginning, to my mode Of thinking, and without Him nought could be: Therefore,
CHARMIDES
I. He was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's prow, and let the foam Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously, And holding wave and wind
Queen Mab
A PHILOSOPHICAL POEM, WITH ECRASEZ L'INFAME!--Correspondance de Voltaire. Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante Trita solo; juvat integros accedere fonteis; Atque haurire: juvatque novos decerper
Song of the Indian Maid, from 'Endymion'
O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes? Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips? O Sorrow! Why do