She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
CHARLES WOLFE.
1791-1823.
_The Burial of Sir John Moore_.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
* * * * *
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone,
But we left him alone with his glory!
* * * * *
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
1795-1820.
_The American flag_.
When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
* * * * *
JOHN KEATS.
1796-1820.
_Endymion_. Line 1.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
* * * * *
_St. Agnes' Eve_. Stanza 27.
Music's golden tongue
Flattered to tears this aged man and poor.
* * * * *
_Hyperion_. Line 5.
That large utterance of the early gods.
* * * * *
ROBERT POLLOK.
1798-1827.
_The Course of Time_.
Book viii. Line 616.
He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
To serve the devil in.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154