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PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822.
How wonderful is death!
Death and his brother sleep.
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass,
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Live within the sense they quicken.
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
From the sphere of our sorrow !
Poems written in 1821.
Most wretched men
Julian and Maddalo.
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. 1795-1820.
THEN Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valour given;
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
The American Flig.
FELICIA HEMANS. 1794-1835.
LEAVES have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the North wind's breath,
And stars to set ;—but all,
The Hour of Death. Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod,
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England.
JOHN KEATS. 1796-1820.
A THING of beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness.
Endymion. Line 1.
Music's golden tongue Flattered to tears this aged man and poor.
St. Agnes' Eve. Stanza 3. And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon.
Ibid. Stanza 30.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
Hyperion. That large utterance of the early gods.
Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings.
Sonnet to Haydon.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific-and all his men
CHARLES WOLFE. 1791-1823.
OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note.
The Burial of Sir John Moore. We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
ROBERT POLLOK. 1798-1827.
E laid his hand upon 'the Ocean's mane
The Course of Time. Book iv. Line 689.
* And I have loved thee, Ocean !
And laid my hand upon thy mane.
BYRON. Childe Harold. Canto iv. St. 184. He was a man Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven To serve the Devil in.
The Course of Time. Book viii. Line 616.
With one hand he put A penny in the urn of poverty, And with the other took a shilling out. Ibid. Line 632.
J. HOWARD PAYNE. 1792-1852.
ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Home, Sweet Home. +
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.
Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube.
The Men of Old.
A man's best things are nearest him,
Lie close about his feet.
* ‘Home is home though it be never so homely,' was a proverb ; it is found in the collections of the seventeenth century.
† From the Opera of Clari--the Maid of Milan.