Beside the old hall-fire—upon my nurse’s knee,
Of happy fairy days—what tales were told to me!
I thought the world was once—all peopled with princesses,
And my heart would beat to hear—their loves and their distresses;
And many a quiet night—in slumber sweet and...
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Riding from Coleraine Mountains stretched around, |
With pensive eyes the little room I view, |
In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, |
Christmas is here; Once on the boughs |
A Street there is in Paris famous, |
Although I enter not, The minster bell tolls out |
Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; |
The Play is done,—the curtain drops, |
Werther had a love for Charlotte Charlotte was a married lady, |