Skip directly to:Main content Main navigation

University of Virginia Library

Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow

Lord Thurlow

Thurlow, Edward Hovell-Thurlow (1781-1829)

collapse section

VERSES, IN ALL HUMILITY DEDICATED TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS The Prince Regent.

THE SECOND ELEGY OF The Fourth Book of Tibullus.

SONNET, ON BEHOLDING THE PORTRAITURE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, IN THE GALLERY AT PENSHURST.

SONNET, ON THE DIVINE AND NEVER ENDING MEMORY OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY .

SONG. To the Rose.

SONNET. To Phœbus.

A SONG, IN APRIL.

A SONG, To the River Avon.

1.

A SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.

2.

A SECOND SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.

TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS:

AN EPIGRAM OF ANTIPATER OF SIDON

FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON.

SONNET, ON THE EXCELLENT POET, SHAKSPEARE.

SONNET, ON THE SAME.

THE PRAISE OF PINDAR, AND THEN OF AUGUSTUS CÆSAR

THE SUN-FLOWER.

EPIGRAM; FROM THE GREEK: In the Seventh Book of the Anthologia.

TO THE EARL OF ASHBURNHAM .

TO THE EARL SPENCER,

TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS,

TO THE FOUNTAIN BANDUSIA.

TO A BELOVED FRIEND.

ON BEHOLDING BODIAM CASTLE,

TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.

SONNET, ON READING THE INDUCTION TO THE MIRROR OF MAGISTRATES, WHEREIN THE POET, LED BY SORROW, DESCENDS TO HELL.

SONNET, WHEN TRAVELLING, IN THE EVENING.

ON THE SAME EVENING, PASSING NEAR HASTINGS.

ON THE SAME EVENING.

THE DIALOGUE OF HORACE AND LYDIA.

SONG, IN ANGELICA.

LINES, COMPOSED, WHEN TRAVELLING FROM THE SEA-SIDE.

TO THE RIVER THAMES.

THE RITES, Had at the Burning of Arcita, of Thebes.

SONNET, WRITTEN ON THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER.

ON THE POEM OF MR. ROGERS, ENTITLED “AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.”

SONNET, IN SPRING.

SONNET, TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LACKEN, IN THE WINTER.

THE ODES OF ANACREON, OF TEOS;

collapse section

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

65

ON THE SAME EVENING, PASSING NEAR HASTINGS.

O Moon, that shinest on this heathy wild,
And light'st the hill of Hastings with thy ray,
How am I with thy sad delight beguil'd,
How hold with fond imagination play!
By thy broad taper I call up the time,
When Harold on the bleeding verdure lay,
Though great in glory, overstain'd with crime,
And fallen by his fate from kingly sway!
On bleeding knights, and on war-broken arms,
Torn banners, and the dying steeds you shone;
When this fair England, and her peerless charms,
And all but honour to the foe were gone!
Here died the King, whom his brave subjects chose,
But, dying, lay amid' his Norman foes!