Poems by Horace Smith

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

(WITH MANY APOLOGIES TO THE LAUREATE.)
I.
Champagne doth not a luncheon make,
Sir W. Bovill was specially retained in an action for damages caused by the overflowing of the banks of the Witham. With great spirit he contended that the river had for three days flowed from the sea.
On seeing BRET HARTE come upon the Bench.
I know not what the cause may be,
I.
The linnet had flown from its cage away,
Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep!
I.
Two neighbours, fighting for a yard of land;
In olden time--in great Eliza's age,
The following "Prothalamion" was recently discovered among some other rubbish in Pope's Villa at Twickenham. It was written on the backs of old envelopes, and has evidently not received the master's last touches. Some of the lines afford an admira
Take, oh take those boots away,
You say 'tis plain that poets feign,
(AFTER HEINE.)
The times still "grow to something strange";

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