Her soul, unsetter'd from the bands of clay,
With swift-wing'd haste to heaven takes its way;
She tow'rs the æriel space on wings divine,
While weeping friends surround the bloodless shrine:
The soften'd heart there breathes a tender sigh,
And grief sits pensive in each moisten'd eye:
Suppress the rising...
On my volcano grows the Grass
A meditative spot —
An acre for a Bird to choose
Would be the General thought —
How red the Fire rocks below
How insecure the sod
Did I disclose
Would populate with awe my solitude.
Now cease these tears, lay gentle Vigil by,
Let recent sorrows dim the pausing eye:
Shall Æneas for lost Creusa mourn,
And tears be wanting on Abella's urn?
Like him I lost my fair one in my flight
From cruel foes---and in the dead of night.
Shall he lament the fall of Illion's tow'rs,...
Oh lovely semblance of a lovelier face!
Upon thy classic contour as I gaze,
My eager thought flies through dividing space;
And to the living picture tribute pays.
I see that brow with thought and goodness crowned,
I see those eyes with deep...
Tis she, upon the sapphire flood,
Whose charms the world surprise,
Whose praises, chanted in the wood,
Are wafted to the skies,
To view the...
'Twas no illusion; from the Past the veil was rent away;
The tide that never changes ebbed, and bore me to that day,
When in the lists and on the field brave deeds of arms were done,
When England blushed beneath the rule of recreant King John.
Scenes from that dim and buried...
On such a night, or such a night,
Would anybody care
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair —
So quiet — Oh how quiet,
That nobody might know
But that the little figure
Rocked softer — to and fro —
On such a dawn, or such a dawn —
Would...
On S——
You say reserve & modesty he has
Whose heart is iron his head wood & his face brass
The Fox the Owl the Beetle & the Bat
By sweet reserve & modesty get Fat
On that dear Frame the Years had worn
Yet precious as the House
In which We first experienced Light
The Witnessing, to Us —
Precious! It was conceiveless fair
As Hands the Grave had grimed
Should softly place within our own
Denying that they died.
On that specific Pillow
Our projects flit away —
The Night's tremendous Morrow
And whether sleep will stay
Or usher us — a stranger —
To situations new
The effort to comprise it
Is all the soul can do.