Kind souls who strive what pious hand shall bring L. Lately our songsters loiter'd in green lanes, Life hurries by, and who can stay Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream; Life's rugged rocks burst thro' its flowery plain; Little have you to learn from me. Little it interests me how Little volume, warm with wishes, Little you think, my lovely friend, Loneliest of hills! from crimes and cares removed, Loved, when my love from all but thee had flown, Memory! thou hidest from me far, "Men call you dog: now tell me why," Men will be slaves; let them; but force them not; Merle! cushat! mavis! when but young Metellus is a lover: one whose ear . Meyrick! surrounded by Silurian boors, Michelet! Time urges me down life's descent, My children! speak not ill of one another; My fragrant Lime, I loved thee long before, My guest, I have not led you thro' My hopes and glories all go down, My hopes retire; my wishes as before. My little flower of stem so tall, 270 253 185 350 222 279 21 49 166 No truer word, save God's, was ever spoken, Not the last struggles of the Sun, Now thou hast left this friendly shore, On days gone by us we look back One pansy, one, she bore beneath her breast, One tooth has Mummius; but in sooth Only one poet in the worst of days On the smooth brow and clustering hair Onward, right onward, gallant James, nor heed O thou whose happy pencil strays Over his millions Death has lawful power, "Our couch shall be roses all spangled with dew." Philip! I know thee not, thy song I know: Plants the most beauteous love the water's brink, Pleasant it is to wink and sniff the fumes Porson was askt what he thought of hexameters written in English: Preacher of discontent! Then large indeed Pretty maiden! pretty maiden! Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak Remind me not, thou grace of serious mien ! Reprehend, if thou wilt, the vain phantasm, O Reason! She leads in solitude her youthful hours Shelley and Keats, on earth unknown Sire! sire! cast off the worn-out garb Sit quiet at your hearthstones while ye may; Sitting up late, incautious Love takes cold, Sixty the years since Fidler bore Slaves-merchants, scalpers, cannibals, agree Sleep, tho' to Age so needful, shuns my eyes, Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throe Smithfield! thy festival prepare . Snappish and captious, ever prowling. So, Kenyon, thou lover of frolic and laughter, So late removed from him she swore, Something (ah! tell me what) there is Sometimes a Jesuit's words are true, |