On Tweed River
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright,
Both current and ripple are dancing in light.
We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak
As we plashed along beneath the oak
That flings its broad branches so far and so wide,
Their shadows are dancing in the midst of the tide.
'Who wakens my nestlings,' the raven he said,
'My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red,
For a blue-swollen corpse is a dainty meal,
And I’ll have my share with the pike and the eel.'
Always Up To Some Prank
Always up to some prank, this mischievous little Govindji over there
It's always I who has to suffer!
As this little cowherd foolishly totters, the girl becomes fervid!
Always up to some prank, this mischievous little Govindji over there
It's always I who has to suffer!
‘Kum now yoo, vow eye doo', if you can't speak properly why do you babble like this?
Says Narsaiyyo, stop all these childish pranks, just take us to your place, and enjoy us!
Always up to some prank, this mischievous little Govindji over there
It's always I who has to suffer!
The Four Elements.
The Fire, Air, Earth and water did contest
Which was the strongest, noblest and the best,
Who was of greatest use and might'est force;
In placide Terms they thought now to discourse,
That in due order each her turn should speak;
But enmity this amity did break
All would be chief, and all scorn'd to be under
Whence issu'd winds & rains, lightning & thunder
The quaking earth did groan, the Sky lookt black
The Fire, the forced Air, in sunder crack;
On My Aunt Mrs. A. K.
Drown'd under London-bridge, in the Queens Bardge, Anno 1641
The Darling of a Father Good and Wise,
The Vertue, which a Vertuous Age did prize;
The Beauty Excellent even to those were Faire,
Subscrib'd unto, by such as might compare;
The Star that 'bove her Orb did always move,
And yet the Noblest did not Hate, but Love;
And those who most upon their Title stood,
To The First Born
WELCOME, welcome, little stranger,
Fear no harm, and fear no danger;
We are glad to see you here,
For you sing 'Sweet Spring is near.'
Now the white snow melts away;
Now the flowers blossom gay:
Come dear bird and build your nest,
For we love our robin best.
To The First Born
WELCOME, welcome, little stranger,
Fear no harm, and fear no danger;
We are glad to see you here,
For you sing 'Sweet Spring is near.'
Now the white snow melts away;
Now the flowers blossom gay:
Come dear bird and build your nest,
For we love our robin best.
Peace
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,
Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask'd, if Peace were there,
A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:
Go seek elsewhere.
I did; and going did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,
This is the lace of Peace's coat:
A Descriptive Ode
Supposed to have been written under the Ruins of
Rufus's Castle, among the remains of the ancient
Church on the Isle of Portland.
CHAOTIC pile of barren stone,
That Nature's hurrying hand has thrown,
Half finish'd, from the troubled waves;
On whose rude brow the rifted tower
Has frown'd, through many a stormy hour,
On this drear site of tempest-beaten graves.
Sure Desolation loves to shroud
Memorial Verses
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece,
Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease.
But one such death remain'd to come;
The last poetic voice is dumb--
We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb.
When Byron's eyes were shut in death,
We bow'd our head and held our breath.
He taught us little; but our soul
Had felt him like the thunder's roll.
Imitation
I saw the Death, and she was seating
By quiet entrance at my own home,
I saw the doors were opened in my tomb,
And there, and there my hope was a-flitting
I'll die, and traces of my past
In days of future will be never sighted,
Look of my eyes will never be delighted
By dear look, in my existence last.
Farewell the somber world, where, precipice above,
Luna
O France, although you sleep
We call you, we the forbidden!
The shadows have ears,
And the depths have cries.
Bitter, glory-less despotism
Over a discouraged people
Closes a black thick grate
Of error and prejudice;
Summer
See what delights in sylvan scenes appear!
Descending Gods have found Elysium here.
In woods bright Venus with Adonis stray'd,
And chaste Diana haunts the forest shade.
Come lovely nymph, and bless the silent hours,
When swains from shearing seek their nightly bow'rs;
When weary reapers quit the sultry field,
And crown'd with corn, their thanks to Ceres yield.
This harmless grove no lurking viper hides,
But in my breast the serpent Love abides.
The Exchange
We pledged our hearts, my love and I,
I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not tell the reason why,
But, O, I trembled like an aspen!
Her father's love she bade me gain;
I went, and shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man---in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.
Lucy's Song
How beautiful at eventide
To see the twilight shadows pale,
Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,
O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale!
How soft is Nature's calm repose
When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep:
The gentlest wind more gently blows,
As if to soothe her in her sleep!
Happiness And Vision
Together at the altar we
In vision oft were seen by thee,
Thyself as bride, as bridegroom I.
Oft from thy mouth full many a kiss
In an unguarded hour of bliss
I then would steal, while none were by.
The purest rapture we then knew,
To A Lady And Her Children
O'erwhelming sorrow now demands my song:
From death the overwhelming sorrow sprung.
What flowing tears? What hearts with grief opprest?
What sighs on sighs heave the fond parent's breast?
The brother weeps, the hapless sisters join
Th' increasing woe, and swell the crystal brine;
The poor, who once his gen'rous bounty fed,
Droop, and bewail their benefactor dead.
In death the friend, the kind companion lies,
And in one death what various comfort dies!
In Three Days
I.
So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine,---
Only a touch and we combine!
Love And Life
All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
A Mock Song
I.
Now Whitehall's in the grave,
And our head is our slave,
The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster;
Now the miter is lost,
The proud Praelates, too, crost,
And all Rome's confin'd to a cloister.
He, that Tarquin was styl'd,
Our white land's exil'd,
Yea, undefil'd;
Love And Life
All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,