But tell me, nymphs ! what power divine Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ? Wallenstein. Part i. Act ii. Sc. 4. The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished; They live no longer in the faith of reason. The Death of Wallenstein. Act v. Sc. 1. Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. Act v. Sc. 1. Often do the spirits To a Lady, OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS. I have heard of reasons manifold What outward form and feature are He guesseth but in part; He seeth with the heart. ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1774-1843. Thalaba. How beautiful is night! Breaks the serene of heaven: Beneath her steady ray The desert-circle spreads, How beautiful is night! The Curse of Kehama. Canto x. All others are but vanity. CHARLES LAMB. 1775-1834. Old Familiar Faces. I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. Detached Thoughts on Books. Books which are no books. THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777–1844. PLEASURES OF HOPE. Part i. Line 7. 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. Line 359. O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save. Line 381. O'er Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, Part ii. Line 5. Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic of a name? Line 23. Line 37. The world was sad ! the garden was a wild ! And man, the hermit, sighed — till woman smiled. Line 45. Line 95. Line 194. Line 263. Line 325. O star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair ? Line 377. What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few and far between. O'Conner's Child. Another's and another's; Ah me! it was a brother's ! Lochiel's Warning. 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. Ye Mariners of England. That guard our native seas, The battle and the breeze. Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her home is on the deep.. The Soldier's Dream. In life's morning march, when my bosom was young. But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, Hohenlinden. |