Lines On A Little Bird Singing At The Window Of The Author, Soon After The Death Of A Beloved Sister.

Go, little flutt'rer! seek thy feather'd loves,
And leave a wretched mourner to his woe;
Seek out the bow'rs of bliss, seek happier groves,
Nor here unheeded let thy music flow.

Yet think me not ungrateful for thy song,
If meant to cheer me in my lone retreat;
Ah! not to thee, my little friend! belong
The pow'rs to soothe the pangs of adverse fate.

Fly, then! the window of the wretched, fly!
And be thy harmless life for ever blest;
I only can reward thee with a sigh,
And wish that joys may crown thy peaceful nest.

John Carr

No biography available

John Carr

State Tricks Or A Peep Into The Cabinet Of The Premier Consul, At St. Cloud, On The Night Of The 26Th Oct. 1803.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

The Rhingau Song.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Lines Written At Kilkenny, On The Theatricals Of That City.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Lines To Julia.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Lines Written On Delia, Listening To Her Canary-Bird.

When thoughtless Delia unconcern'd surveys
Her plumy captive, as he leans to sing,
Lo! while she smiles, the fascination stays
The little heaven of its airy wing.

Ah! so she tastes the sorrows I impart,
Smiles at the sound, but never feels my pain;
And many a glance deludes my captive heart
To sigh in numbers, tho' I sigh in vain!

John Carr

Lines To The Memory Of My Dear Brother, W.T.P. Carr, Esq.

- manibus date lilia plenis:
Purpureos spargam flores.

Aeneid, lib. vi.


Tho' no funereal grandeur swell my song,
Nor genius, eagle-plum'd, the strain prolong, -
Tho' Grief and Nature here alone combine
To weep, my William! o'er a fate like thine, -
Yet thy fond pray'r, still ling'ring on my ear,
Shall force its way thro' many a gushing tear:
The Muse, that saw thy op'ning beauties spread,
That lov'd thee living, shall lament thee dead!
Ye graceful Virtues! while the note I breathe,
Of sweetest flow'rs entwine a fun'ral wreath, -
Of virgin flow'rs, and place them round his tomb,
To bud, like him, and perish in their bloom!
Ah! when these eyes saw thee serenely wait
The last long separating stroke of Fate, -
When round thy bed a kin...

John Carr

Lines To A Robin.

Written during a severe Winter.


Why, trembling, silent, wand'rer! why,
From me and Pity do you fly?
Your little heart against your plumes
Beats hard - ah! dreary are these glooms!
Famine has chok'd the note of joy
That charm'd the roving shepherd-boy.
Why, wand'rer, do you look so shy?
And why, when I approach you, fly?
The crumbs which at your feet I strew
Are only meant to nourish you;
They are not thrown with base decoy,
To rob you of one hour of joy.
Come, follow to my silent mill,
That stands beneath yon snow-clad hill;
There will I house your trembling form,
There shall your shiv'ring breast be warm:
And, when your little heart grows strong,
I'll ask you for your simple song;
And, when you will not tarry more,
Open ...

John Carr

The Song Of Grief

By the walk of the willows I pour'd out my theme,
The breath of the evening scarce dimpled the stream;
By the waters I stood, like an image of Woe,
And my tears, like the tide, seem'd to tremble and flow.

Ye green scatter'd reeds, that half lean to the wave,
In your plaintive, your musical, sighs, could ye save
But one note of my charmer, to soften my doom,
I would stay till these willows should arch me a tomb!

For ye know, when I pour'd out my soul on the lute,
How she hung down her head, so expressively mute!
From my hand she would take it, still breathing my pain;
She would touch it - return it - and smile at the strain.

Ye wild blooming flow'rs, that enamel this brink,
Like me could ye feel, and like me could ye think,
How sadly would droop ev'ry b...

John Carr

Lines To The Tune Of "Oh! Lady Fair! Where Art Thou Going?"

Sing, bird of grief! still eve descending,
And soothe a mind with sorrow rending;
Ne'er may I see the blush of morrow,
But close this night the sigh of sorrow;

Then, if some wand'rer here directed
Shall find my mossy grave neglected,
May he replace the weed that's growing
With the nearest flow'r that's blowing!

John Carr

Lines Written At Brighton.

From Mirth's bright circle, from the giddy throng,
How sweet it is to steal away at eve,
To listen to the homeward fisher's song,
Whilst dark the waters of the ocean heave; -

And on the sloping beach to bear the spray
Dash 'gainst some hoary vessel's broken side;
Whilst, far illumin'd by the parting ray,
The distant sail is faintly seen to glide.

Yes, 'tis Reflection's chosen hour; for then,
With pensive pleasure mingling o'er the scene,
Th' erratic mind treads over life again,
And gazes on the past with eye serene.

Those stormy passions which bedimm'd the soul,
That oft have bid the joys it treasur'd fly,
Now, like th' unruffled waves of Ocean, roll
With gentle lapse - their only sound a sigh.

The galling wrong no longer knits the brow...

John Carr