« PreviousContinue »
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822.
OW wonderful is death!
Death and his brother sleep.
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
The desire of the moth for the star,
From the sphere of our sorrow!
Poems written in 1821.
Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong;
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Julian and Maddalo.
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820.
THEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
For ever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us.
The American Flag.
FELICIA HEMANS. 1794-1835.
LEAVES have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North wind's breath,
And stars to set ;-but all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod,
The Hour of Death.
They have left unstained what there they found-
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England.
JOHN KEATS. 1796-1820.
A THING of beauty is a joy for ever
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness.
Endymion. Line 1.
Music's golden tongue
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor.
St. Agnes' Eve. Stanza 3.
And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon.
Ibid. Stanza 30.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
That large utterance of the early gods.
Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings.
Sonnet to Haydon.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823.
OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note.
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
ROBERT POLLOK. 1798-1827.
E laid his hand upon 'the Ocean's mane'
* And I have loved thee, Ocean!
And laid my hand upon thy mane.
BYRON. Childe Harold. Canto iv. St. 184.
He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
To serve the Devil in.
The Course of Time. Book viii. Line 616. With one hand he put
A penny in the urn of poverty,
And with the other took a shilling out. Ibid. Line 632.
J. HOWARD PAYNE. 1792-1852.
MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble there's no place like home.*
Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them,
Like instincts, unawares.
A man's best things are nearest him,
Lie close about his feet.
The Men of Old.
* Home is home though it be never so homely,' was a proverb; it is
found in the collections of the seventeenth century.
From the Opera of Clari-the Maid of Milan.