Robert Southey Poems
|82.||To A Goose||1/3/2003|
|85.||To Mary Wollstonecraft||1/1/2004|
|86.||To My Own Minature Picture Taken At Two Years Of Age||1/1/2004|
|87.||To The Chapel Bell||1/1/2004|
|88.||To The Genius Of Africa||1/1/2004|
|89.||Wat Tyler - Act I||4/8/2010|
|90.||Wat Tyler - Act Ii||4/8/2010|
|91.||Wat Tyler - Act Iii||4/8/2010|
|93.||Written On Sunday Morning||1/1/2004|
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The Ship was still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The Abbot of Aberbrothok
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.
When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The Mariners heard the ...
Porlock! thy verdant vale so fair to sight,
Thy lofty hills which fern and furze imbrown,
The waters that roll musically down
Thy woody glens, the traveller with delight
Recalls to memory, and the channel grey
Circling its surges in thy level bay.
Porlock! I shall forget thee not,
Here by the unwelcome summer rain confined;
But often shall hereafter call to mind