As the author was discharging his Pistols in a Garden, Two Ladies passing near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a Bullet hissing near them, to one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning. [2] ...
Dear BECHER, you tell me to mix with mankind; I cannot deny such a precept is wise; But retirement accords with the tone of my mind: I will not descend to a world I despise.
And thou wert sad - yet I was not with thee; And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near; Methought that Joy and Health alone could be Where I was not - and pain and sorrow here!...
Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;...
When the last sunshine of expiring Day In Summer's twilight weeps itself away, Who hath not felt the softness of the hour Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower?...
On peut trouver des femmes qui n'ont jamais eu de galanterie, mais il est rare d'en trouver qui n'en aient jamais eu qu'une. - [R'flexions ... du Duc de la Rochefoucauld, No. lxxiii.]
In this belov'd marble view Above the works and thoughts of Man, What Nature could but would not do, And Beauty and Canova can! Beyond Imagination's power, Beyond the Bard's defeated art,...
"Our Nation's foes lament on Fox's death, But bless the hour, when PITT resign'd his breath: These feelings wide, let Sense and Truth unclue, We give the palm, where Justice points its due."
Oh! thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire, Round as the shield which grac'd my godlike Sire, Whence are the beams, O Sun! thy endless blaze, Which far eclipse each minor Glory's rays?...
The Moralists tell us that Loving is Sinning, And always are prating about and about it, But as Love of Existence itself's the beginning, Say, what would Existence itself be without it? ...
Why, Pigot, complain Of this damsel's disdain, Why thus in despair do you fret? For months you may try, Yet, believe me, a sigh Will never obtain a coquette.
'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;...
A noble Lady of the Italian shore Lovely and young, herself a happy bride, Commands a verse, and will not be denied, From me a wandering Englishman; I tore One sonnet, but invoke the muse once more...
Rousseau - Voltaire - our Gibbon - and De Sta'l - Leman![75] these names are worthy of thy shore, Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more, Their memory thy remembrance would recall:...
To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise His offspring, who expired in other days To make thy Sire's sway by a kingdom less, - [ih]...
Oh! my lonely - lonely - lonely - Pillow! Where is my lover? where is my lover? Is it his bark which my dreary dreams discover? Far - far away! and alone along the billow?
Tis done - and shivering in the gale The bark unfurls her snowy sail; And whistling o'er the bending mast, Loud sings on high the fresh'ning blast; And I must from this land be gone,...