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Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement. Blest hour! it was a luxury
Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course ?
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines.
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts !
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
The Three Graves.
A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.
The Visit of the Gods.
The Knight's Tomb.
On Taking Leave of — 1817. To know, to esteem, to love — and then to part, Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart !
Epitaph on an Infant.
Death came with friendly care;
And bade it blossom there.
Dejection. An Ode.
We in ourselves rejoice!
All melodies the echoes of that voice,
Reproof. Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures, love and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath; And three firm friends, more sure than day and night, Himself, his maker, and the angel death.
A Christmas Carol. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.
But tell me, nymphs ! what power divine
Part i. Act ii. Sc. 4. The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring, Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished; They live no longer in the faith of reason.
The Death of Wallenstein.
Act v. Sc. 1. Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Act v. Sc. 1.
Often do the spirits
To a Lady,
OFFENDED BY A SPORTIVE OBSERVATION THAT WOMEN HAVE NO SOULS
I have heard of reasons manifold
What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
He seeth with the heart.
How beautiful is night!
Breaks the serene of heaven :
Beneath her steady ray
The desert-circle spreads,
How beautiful is night!
The Curse of Kehama.
All others are but vanity.
Old Familiar Faces. I have had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Detached Thoughts on Books. Books which are no books.
PLEASURES OF HOPE.
Part i. Line 7. ’T is distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save.
O'er Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,