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Sad fancies do we then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To our own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness.

That kill the bloom before its time,
And blanch, without the owner's crime,
The most resplendent hair.

The sightless Milton, with his hair
Around his placid temples curled;
And Shakespeare at his side, a freight,
If clay could think and mind were weight,
For him who bore the world!

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Lament of Mary Queen of Scots.

Ode to Lycoris.

The Italian Itinerant.

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows
That for oblivion take their daily birth
From all the fuming vanities of earth.

Sky-Prospect from the Plain of France.

Turning, for them who pass, the common dust
Of servile opportunity to gold.


Learned and wise, hath perished utterly,
Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh
That would lament her.

As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear
Into the Avon, Avon to the tide

Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas,
Into main ocean they, this deed accursed
An emblem yields to friends and enemies
How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified

Desultory Stanza.

Ecclesiastical Sonnets. Part i. xxv. Missions and Travels.

By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.1 Part ii. xvii. To Wickliffe.

1 In obedience to the order of the Council of Constance (1415), the remains of Wickliffe were exhumed and burned to ashes, and these cast into the Swift, a neighbouring brook running hard by; and “thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Severn, Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main ocean. And thus the ashes of Wickliffe are the emblem of

The feather, whence the pen

Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
Dropped from an angel's wing.1

Ecclesiastical Sonnets.

Part iii. v. Walton's Book of Lives.

Meek Walton's heavenly memory.

But who would force the soul tilts with a straw
Against a champion cased in adamant.

Part iii. vii. Persecution of the Scottish Covenanters.
Where music dwells

Lingering and wandering on as loth to die,
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.

Part iii. xliii. Inside of King's Chapel, Cambridge.

Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast
False fires, that others may be lost.

But hushed be every thought that springs
From out the bitterness of things.


To the Lady Fleming.

Elegiac Stanzas. Addressed to Sir G. H. B.

"Some prophet of that day said,

his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over.". History, sect. ii. book iv, paragraph 53.

What Heraclitus would not laugh, or what Democritus would not weep? For though they digged up his body, burned his bones, and drowned his ashes, yet the word of God and truth of his doctrine, with the fruit and success thereof, they could not burn. - Fox: Book of Martyrs, vol. i. p. 606 (edition, 1641).

- FULLER: Church

"The Avon to the Severn runs,
The Severn to the sea;

And Wickliffe's dust shall spread abroad
Wide as the waters be.'"

DANIEL WEBSTER: Address before the Sons of
New Hampshire, 1849.

These lines are similarly quoted by the Rev. John Cumming in the "Voices of the Dead."

1 The pen wherewith thou dost so heavenly sing
Made of a quill from an angel's wing.

Whose noble praise
Deserves a quill pluckt from an angel's wing.


To the solid ground Of Nature trusts the mind that builds for aye. A Volant Tribe of Bards on Earth.

Soft is the music that would charm forever;
The flower of sweetest smell is shy and lowly.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the lover is beloved.

Not Love, not War.

Let other Burds of Angels sing.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam,
True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

A Briton even in love should be
A subject, not a slave!

Ere with Cold Beads of Midnight Dew.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart.1

1 With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

To a Skylark.

And when a damp

Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand
The thing became a trumpet; whence he blew
Soul-animating strains, -alas! too few.

But he is risen, a later star of dawn.
Bright gem instinet with music, vocal spark.
When his veering gait

And every motion of his starry train
Seem governed by a strain
Of music, audible to him alone.

Scorn not the Sonnet.



A Morning Exercise.


The Triad.

Alas! how little can a moment show

Of an eye where feeling plays
In ten thousand dewy rays:
A face o'er which a thousand shadows go!

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

On the Power of Sound. xii.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift,
That no philosophy can lift.

Nature's old felicities.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower
Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour
Have passed away; less happy than the one
That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove
The tender charm of poetry and love.

The Triad.

Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source,
The rapt one, of the godlike forehead,
The heaven-eyed creature sleeps in earth:
And Lamb, the frolic and the gentle,
Has vanished from his lonely hearth.

Poems composed during a Tour in the Summer of 1833. xxxvii.


Small service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one :
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

To a Child. Written in her Album.

How fast has brother followed brother,
From sunshine to the sunless land!

The Trosachs.

Those old credulities, to Nature dear,
Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock
Of history?

Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg.


Memorials of a Tour in Italy. iv.

How does the meadow-flower its bloom unfold?
Because the lovely little flower is free
Down to its root, and in that freedom bold.
A Poet! He hath put his Heart to School.

Minds that have nothing to confer
Find little to perceive.

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 1771-1832.

Such is the custom of Branksome Hall.
Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto i. Stanza 7.

If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight.

O fading honours of the dead!
O high ambition, lowly laid!

I was not always a man of woe.

I cannot tell how the truth may be;
I say the tale as 't was said to me.

Yes, Thou art Fair.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;

In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.
Along thy wild and willow'd shore.
Was flattery lost on poet's ear;
A simple race! they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile.

Canto ii. Stanza 1.

Stanza 10.

Stanza 12.

Stanza 22.

Canto iii. Stanza 1.

Stanza 24.

Canto iv. Stanza 1.

Stanza 25.

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