#1878 #ABookOfMiscellaneousLyrics #EnglishWriters #VictorianWriters
JUST let the Owl of Evil howl; To mourners of each rank and stati… Come, troll the Golden Bowl! And quaff me with a deep potation. Each sparkling droplet to the soul
The Violet invited my kiss. I kiss’d it and called it my bride… “Was ever one slighted like this?” Sighed the Rose as it stood by my… My heart ever open to grief,
THE stars are twinkling in the sk… As to the pit I go; I think not of the sheen on high, But of the gloom below. Not rest nor peace, but toil and s…
UPON a steed he came with speed, The Day behind him breaking; And still he sped when Day o’erhe… Her last farewell was taking. ‘Ah, whither fliest?—Name thy goa…
OLD Uncle Bob lay on the settle, At eventide, while on the hob, ‘Roe-tee-riti-too’ sang the kettle… And charmed the dear heart of old… ‘Ree-tee-riti-too’ on his ears, lo…
‘ADIEU!’ she cried, and with tha… Adown the star-lit valley fleeted, And Echo from her tower on high, With cruel tongue, the word repeat… ‘What?—Never!’ cried I, yet posse…
“I JEALOUS? Pooh!—Doth not… Pursue his vessel o’er the billows… No, jealous, no!—From whence thos… —'Tis but the wind among the willo… “Ha, jealous, ha!—Did darling spe…
THE bitter wind blows o’er the de… —The bloom from the blossom foreve… And I must trudge on thro’ the sl… And sweet to my heart were the lot… Upon my shrunk bosom sleep seizeth…
The butterfly from flower to flowe… The urchin chas’d; and, when at la… He caught it in my lady’s bower, He cried, “Ha, ha!” and held it f… Awhile he laugh’d, but soon he wep…
WHAT can he ail? I hear them ask And what can make his cheek so pal… Ah, that to answer were a task For which no effort could avail, To say I love were but to say
THE sun is in the western sky And thro’ the barley, she— Comes she, the apple of my eye, The rose-cheeked Rosa Rea. Away I slink the maid to meet,
Misfortune is a darling, ever Most faithful to the minstrel race… Let low-bred wretches shun them, n… Yet acted she a part so base. True, oft by her the bard discover…
BALOO, my sweet baby—the blossom… I dandle’t till weary, and sigh, With not a bare drop in my bosom To silence its pitiful cry. The red moon above us right rarely…
HER harp she takes, from string t… Her little snowy fingers, glancing… Into Night’s ear a wild spell fli… And all the while my heart is danc… Why thus, fond heart, thus dancest…
AH! a lovely jewel was Mary of C… And now she is cold in the clay, We think of the heart-cheering ima… As we pass down the old waggon way… Her air was a magical air, and the…