The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott Edited by his Son Edwin Elliott ... A New and Revised Edition: Two Volumes |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
I. |
II. |
II. |
A POET. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLVIII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | ||
A POET.
Child of the Hopeless! two hearts broke
When thou wast orphan'd here:
They left a treasure in thy breast,
The soul of Pity's tear.
And thou must be—not what thou wilt;—
Say then, what would'st thou be?
“A Poet!” Oh, if thou would'st steep
Deep thoughts in ecstasy,
When thou wast orphan'd here:
They left a treasure in thy breast,
The soul of Pity's tear.
And thou must be—not what thou wilt;—
Say then, what would'st thou be?
“A Poet!” Oh, if thou would'st steep
Deep thoughts in ecstasy,
100
Nor poet of the rich be thou,
Nor poet of the poor;
Nor harper of the swarming town,
Nor minstrel of the moor;
But be the bard of all mankind,
The prophet of all time,
And tempt the saints in heav'n to steal
Earth's truth-created rhyme.
Nor poet of the poor;
Nor harper of the swarming town,
Nor minstrel of the moor;
But be the bard of all mankind,
The prophet of all time,
And tempt the saints in heav'n to steal
Earth's truth-created rhyme.
Be the Columbus of a world
Where wisdom knows not fear;
The Homer of a race of men
Who need not sword and spear.
God in thy heart, and God in them,
If thou to men canst show,
Thou makest mortals angels here,
Their home a heav'n below.
Where wisdom knows not fear;
The Homer of a race of men
Who need not sword and spear.
God in thy heart, and God in them,
If thou to men canst show,
Thou makest mortals angels here,
Their home a heav'n below.
Upon a rock thou sett'st thy feet,
And callest Death thy slave:
“Here lies a man!” Eternity
Shall write upon thy grave;
“A Bard lies here!—O softly tread,
Ye never-wearied years!
And bless, O World, a memory
Immortal as thy tears!”
And callest Death thy slave:
“Here lies a man!” Eternity
Shall write upon thy grave;
“A Bard lies here!—O softly tread,
Ye never-wearied years!
And bless, O World, a memory
Immortal as thy tears!”
The Poetical Works of Ebenezer Elliott | ||