That wait on all terrestrial affairs–
The shades of former and of future years–
Forboding fancies and prophetic tears,
Quelling a spirit that was once elate.
Heavens! what a wilderness the world appears,
Where youth, and mirth, and health are out of date;
But no–a laugh of innocence and joy
Resounds, like music of the fairy race,
And, gladly turning from the world’s annoy,
I gaze upon a little radiant face,
And bless, internally, the merry boy
Who ‘makes a son-shine in a shady place.’
For Nature, when his head was made,Forgot to dot his eyes.So, like a Christmas pedagogue,Poor Tim was forced to do –Look out for pupils; for he hadA vacancy for two.There’s some have specs to help their sightOf objects dim and small :But Tim had specks within his eyes,And could not see at all.Now Tim he…
The wind that I sigh toWill visit thy trees.The ship that it hastensThy ports will contain,But me!—I must neverSee England again!There’s many that weep there,But one weeps alone,For the tears that are fallingSo far from her own;So far from thy own, love,We know not our pain;If death is between us,Or only the main.When the white…
Invisible embassy, or secret guest,—Weighing the light air on a lighter wing;—Whether into the midnight moon, to bringIlluminate visions to the eye of rest,—Or rich romances from the florid West,—Or to the sea, for mystic whispering,—Still by thy charm’d allegiance to the will,The fruitful wishes prosper in the brain,As by the fingering of fairy skill,—Moonlight,…
That in this little chamber there is foundBoth earth and heaven—my universe of love!All that my God can give me, or remove,Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death.Sweet that in this small compass I behoveTo live their living and to breathe their breath!Almost I wish that, with one common sigh,We might resign all mundane care…
The mighty city under thy full tide;Making a silent palace for old Sleep,Like his own temple under the hush’d deep,Where all the busy day he doth abide,And forth at the late dark, outspreadeth wideHis dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep!How peacefully the living millions lie!Lull’d unto death beneath his poppy spells;There is no breath—no…
Travels in Morocco and Algiers.‘Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing?’Sancho Panza inDon QuixoteThe Moor leans on his cushion,With the pipe between his lips;And still at frequent intervalsThe sweet sherbét he sips;But, spite of lulling vaporAnd the sober cooling cup,The spirit of the swarthy MoorIs fiercely kindling up!One hand is on…
