#EnglishWriters
(A Lady of Tender Age) Ladies, where were your bright eye… Where were they glancing yester-ni… Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing, Imogen dancing all in white?
Sitting at times over a hearth tha… With dull domestic glow, My thought, leaving the book, grat… To you who planned it so. Not of the great only you deigned…
(After Martial) Bernard, if to you and me Fortune all at once should give Years to spend secure and free, With the choice of how to live,
“Ye have robb’d,” said he, “ye hav… Take your ill-got plunder, and bur… What will ye more of your guest an… “Blood for our blood,” they said. He laugh’d: “If one may settle th…
He gave us all a good-bye cheerily At the first dawn of day; We dropped him down the side full… When the light died away. It’s a dead dark watch that he’s a…
This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts o… And heard the words that one by on… The touch of Life has turn’d to t… Here in a day that is not far,
She is a lady fair and wise, Her heart her counsel keeps, And well she knows of time that fl… And tide that onward sweeps; But still she sits with restless e…
Foremost of all on battle’s fiery… Here VERTUE fell, and here he s… A fairer name no Roman ever gave To stand sole monument on Valour’…
Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, D… Here’s to the bold and free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blak… Hail to the Kings of the Sea! Admirals all, for England’s sake,
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Irelan… Down thy valleys green and sad, Still thy spirit wanders wailing, Wanders wailing, wanders mad. Long ago that anguish took thee,
In The Time Of War And Tumults O Lord Almighty, Thou whose hand… Despair and victory give; In whom, though tyrants tread thei… The souls of nations live;
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still? ’Twas the right death to die, lad,
Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salm… If ye’ll listen I’ll tell ye. Dinna trust to the books and their… They’re but trying to sell ye. Leave professors to read their ain…
(from the French of Wenceslas, Du… I cannot tell, of twain beneath th… Which one in grief the other goes… Narcissus, who to end the pain he… Died of the love that could not he…
Praise thou with praise unending, The Master of the Wine; To all their portions sending Himself he mingled thine: The sea-born flush of morning,