The turtle on yon withered bough, That lately mourned her murdered mate, Has found another comrade now— Such changes all await! Again her drooping plume is drest, Again she ’s willing to be blest And takes her lover to her nest. If nature has decreed it so With all above, and all below, Let us like them forget our woe, And not be killed with sorrow. If I should quit your arms to-night And chance to die before ’t was light, I would advise you—and you might— Love again to-morrow.
|
Where now these mingled ruins lie A temple once to Bacchus rose, Beneath whose roof, aspiring high, Full many a guest forgot his woes. No more this dome, by tempests torn, Affords a social safe retreat; But ravens here, with eye forlorn, And clustering bats henceforth will meet. The... |
The grandeur of this earthly round, Where Theon would forever be, Is but a name, is but a sound— Mere emptiness and vanity. Give me the stars, give me the skies, Give me the heaven’s remotest sphere, Above these gloomy scenes to rise Of desolation and despair. These native fires that... |
Thou, born to sip the lake or spring, Or quaff the waters of the stream, Why hither come, on vagrant wing? Does Bacchus tempting seem,— Did he for you this glass prepare? Will I admit you to a share? Did storms harass or foes perplex, Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,— Did wars... |
in a branch of willow hid Sings the evening Caty-did: From the lofty-locust bough Feeding on a drop of dew, In her suit of green arrayed Hear her singing in the shade— Caty-did, Caty-did, Caty-did! While upon a leaf you tread, Or repose your little head On your sheet of shadows laid, All... |
|
His soul extracted from the public sink, For discord born he splasht around his ink; In scandal foremost, as by scandal fed, He hourly rakes the ashes of the dead. Secure from him no traveller walks the streets, His malice sees a foe in all he meets; With dark design he treads his daily rounds,... |
