Poetry (Book Preface)

O! should I ever dare profane
With venal touch the hallow'd lyre,
Let me be banish'd from the Muses' train;
Ne'er let me feel their heart-ennobling fire!
Unworthy of a Poet's glorious name,
Let me be doom'd to everlasting shame!

Thomas Oldham

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Thomas Oldham

Epitaph On Howard

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Epitaph On Wilberforce

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Elegy, (Written At The Request Of A Young Lady.) Sylvia On Her Dead Canary-Bird

Thomas Oldham, Simple Poetry

Lines, On Hearing A Young Gentleman, Who Is Both Lame And Blind, But In Other Respects Very Handsome, Sing And Play On His Violin For The First Time

Thomas Oldham, 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.

Muse's Triumph, The

What adverse passions rule my changeful breast,
With hope exalted, or by fear deprest!
Now, by the Muse inspired, I snatch the lyre,
And proudly to poetic fame aspire;
Now dies the sacred flame, my pride declines,
And diffidence the immortal wreath resigns.
Friends, void of taste, warm advocates for trade,
With shafts of ridicule, my peace invade:
'A Poet!' thus they sneeringly exclaim
'Well may you court that glorious, envied name;
For, sure, no common joys his lot attend;
None but himself those joys can comprehend.

O, superhuman bliss, employ sublime,
To scribble fiction, and to jingle rhyme!
Caged in some muse-behaunted, Grub-street garret,
To prate his feeders' promptings, like a parrot!
And what, though want and scorn his life assail?
What, tho...

Thomas Oldham

Prelude - Prefixed To The Volume Entitled "Poems Chiefly Of Early And Late Years

In desultory walk through orchard grounds,
Or some deep chestnut grove, oft have I paused
The while a Thrush, urged rather than restrained
By gusts of vernal storm, attuned his song
To his own genial instincts; and was heard
(Though not without some plaintive tones between)
To utter, above showers of blossom swept
From tossing boughs, the promise of a calm,
Which the unsheltered traveler might receive
With thankful spirit. The descant, and the wind
That seemed to play with it in love or scorn,
Encouraged and endeared the strain of words
That haply flowed from me, by fits of silence
Impelled to livelier pace. But now, my Book!
Charged with those lays, and others of like mood,
Or loftier pitch if higher rose the theme,
Go, single yet aspiring to be joined
W...

William Wordsworth

Prefatory Sonnets

I

I purposed once to take my pen and write,
Not songs, like some, tormented and awry
With passion, but a cunning harmony
Of words and music caught from glen and height,
And lucid colours born of woodland light
And shining places where the sea-streams lie.
But this was when the heat of youth glowed white,
And since Ive put the faded purpose by.
I have no faultless fruits to offer you
Who read this book; but certain syllables
Herein are borrowed from unfooted dells
And secret hollows dear to noontide dew;
And these at least, though far between and few,
May catch the sense like subtle forest spells.



II

So take these kindly, even though there be
Some notes that unto other lyres belong,
Stray echoes from the elder sons of so...

Henry Kendall

Prologue

Lo! Time, at last, has brought, with tardy flight,
The long-anticipated, wish'd-for night;
How on this blissful night, while yet remote,
Did Hope and Fancy with fond rapture doat!
Like eagles, oft, in glory's dazzling sky,
With full-stretch'd pinions have they soar'd on high,
To greet the appearance of the poet's name,
Dawning conspicuous mid the stars of fame.

Alas! they soar not now; the demon, Fear,
Has hurl'd the cherubs from their heavenly sphere:
Fancy, o'erwhelm'd with terror, grovelling lies;
The world of torment opens on her eyes,
Darkness and hissing all she sees and hears;
        ("The speaker pauses the audience are
            supposed to clap, when he continues,")
But Hope, returning to dispel her fears,
Claps her bright wings; the magic s...

Thomas Oldham

Prologue

The piece, to-night, is of peculiar kind,
For which the appropriate name is hard to find;
No Comedy, 'tis clear; nor can it be,
With strictest truth, pronounced a Tragedy;
Since, though predominant the tragic tone,
It reigns not uniformly and alone;
Then, that its character be best proclaim'd,
A Tragic-drama let the piece be named.

But do not, Critics! rashly hence conclude,
'Tis a mere Farce, incongruous and rude,
Where incidents in strange confusion blend,
Without connexion, interest, or end:
Not so; far different was the bard's design;
For though, at times, he ventures to combine
With grave Melpomene's impassion'd strain
The gay Thalia's more enlivening vein;
(As all mankind with one consent agree
How strong the charms of sweet variety,)
Yet...

Thomas Oldham

Prologue, To Public Readings At A Young Gentlemen's Academy.

Once more we venture here, to prove our worth,
And ask indulgence kind, to tempt us forth:
Seek not perfection from our essays green,
That, in man's noblest works, has never been,
Nor is, nor e'er will be; a work exempt
From fault to form, as well might man attempt
T'explore the vast infinity of space,
Or fix mechanic boundaries to grace.
Hard is the finish'd Speaker's task; what then
Must be our danger, to pursue the pen
Of the 'rapt Bard, through all his varied turns,
Where joy extatic smiles, or sorrow mourns?
Where Richard's soul, red in the murtherous lave,
Shrinks from the night-yawn'd tenants of the grave,
While coward conscience still affrights his eye,
Still groans the dagger'd sound, "despair and die."
And hapless Juliet's unextinguish'd flame,
...

Thomas Gent