Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no

The only constant in a world of change,O yearning THOUGHT ! that liv’st but in the brain ?Call to the HOURS, that in the distance play,The faery people of the future day– —Fond THOUGHT ! not one of all that shining swarmWill breathe on thee with life-enkindling breath,Till when, like strangers shelt’ring from a storm,Hope…

Heaves the proud harlot her distended breastIn intricacies of laborious song.These feel not musics genuine power nor deignTo melt at Natures passion-warbled plaint;But when the long-breathed singers up-trilled strainBursts in a squall, they gape for wonderment.Hark! the deep buzz of vanity and hate!Scornful, yet envious, with self-torturing sneerMy lady eyes some maid of humbler state,While…

I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet songsters nearWarble in shade their wild-wood melody:Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.Up scour the startling stragglers of the flockThat on green plots o’er precipices browse:From the deep fissures of the naked rockThe Yew-tree bursts! Beneath its dark green boughs(‘Mid which the May-thorn blends its blossoms white)Where broad…

That grunted as they crunched the mastFor that was ripe, and fell full fast.Then they trotted away, for the wind grew high:One acorn they left, and no more might you spy.Next came a Raven, that liked not such follyHe belonged, they did say, to the witch Melancholy!Blacker was he than blackest jet,Flew low in the…

Hope’s last and dearest child without a name!–Has flitted from me, like the warmthless flame,That makes false promise of a place of restTo the tired Pilgrim’s still believing mind;–Or like some Elfin Knight in kingly court,Who having won all guerdons in his sport,Glides out of view, and whither none can find!II.Yes! he hath flitted from…

When life seems emptied of all genial powers,A dready mood, which he who ne’er has knownMay bless his happy lot, I sate alone ;And, from the numbing spell to win relief,Call’d on the Past for thought of glee or grief.In vain ! bereft alike of grief and glee,I sate and cow’r’d o’er my own vacancy…

If the life was the question, a thing sent to tryAnd to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die.NATURE’S ANSWERIs’t returned, as ’twas sent ? Is’t no worse for the wear ?Think first, what you ARE ! Call to mind what you WERE !I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,Gave…

And dedicated bame, I hearA promise and a mystery,A pledge of more than passing life,Yea, in that very name of wife!A pulse of love that ne’er can sleep!A feeling that upbraids the heartWith happiness beyond desert,That gladness half requests to weep!Nor bless I not the keener senseAnd unalarming turbulence.Of transient joys, that ask no stingFrom…

A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he–O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.–That he who many a year with toil of breathFound death in life, may here find life in death :Mercy for praise–to be forgiven for fame–He ask’d, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.

And the owls have awakened the crowing cock;Tu-whit!- Tu-whoo!And hark, again! the crowing cock,How drowsily it crew.Sir Leoline, the Baron rich,Hath a toothless mastiff, whichFrom her kennel beneath the rockMaketh answer to the clock,Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour;Ever and aye, by shine and shower,Sixteen short howls, not over loud;Some say, she…

Where ‘sleeps the moonlight’ on yon verdant bed–O humbly press that consecrated ground!For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain!And there his spirit most delights to rove:Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain,And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,And loads the west wind with its soft perfume,His…

And thro’ the clefts, itself has made,We spy the flashes of the Blade !But thro’ the clefts, itself has made,We likewise see Love’s flashing blade,By rust consumed or snapt in twain :And only Hilt and Stump remain.