Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother's, when she feels The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, Of agony are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Marco Bozzaris. Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; One of the few, the immortal names, Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee,1 Ibid. Ibid. Burns. On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. There is an evening twilight of the heart, When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest. 1 See Rogers, page 455. Twilight, They love their land because it is their own, Lord Stafford mines for coal and salt, Connecticut. Alnwick Castle. Ibid. CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, The Burial of Sir John Moore, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, Ibid. From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, Ibid If I had thought thou couldst have died, But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be. Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light, ne'er seen before, As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore. Go, forget me! why should sorrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing! To Mary. Ibid. Go, forget me! HENRY HART MILMAN. 1791-1868. And the cold marble leapt to life a god. The Belvedere Apollo. Too fair to worship, too divine to love. Ibid. CHARLES SPRAGUE. 1791-1875. Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Curiosity. Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, Ibid. Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze Centennial Ode. Stanza 22. Yes, social friend, I love thee well, To my Cigar. PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822. Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown The Revolt of Islam. Dedication, Stanza 6. With hue like that when some great painter dips The awful shadow of some unseen Power Canto v. Stanza 23. Hymn to Intellectual Beauty. The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame A pard-like spirit, beautiful and swift. Adonais. xxx. Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed xxxii. lii. Ode to the West Wind. Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams That orbed maiden with white fire laden, We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Ibid. The Cloud. iv. Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. To a Skylark. Line 86. Kings are like stars, they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.1 Hellas. Line 195. 1 See Bacon, page 166. The moon of Mahomet Arose, and it shall set; While, blazoned as on heaven's immortal noon, The cross leads generations on. The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return, The earth doth like a snake renew Her winter weeds outworn. What! alive, and so bold, O earth? Hellas. Line 221. Line 1060. Written on hearing the News of the Death of Napoleon. Given or returned. Common as light is love, They who inspire it most are fortunate, Prometheus Unbound. Act ü. Sc. 5. Those who inflict must suffer, for they see Julian and Maddalo. Line 482. Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.2 I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear. Line 544. Stanzas written in Dejection, near Naples. Stanza 4. Peter was dull; he was at first Dull, - oh so dull, so very dull! Whether he talked, wrote, or rehearsed, Still with this dulness was he cursed! Dull, beyond all conception, dull. 1 The pleasure of love is in loving. We are much happier in the passion we feel than in that we inspire. ROCHEFOUCAULD: Maxim 259. 2 See Butler, page 216. |