Living child or pictured cherub, Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace; And the mother, moving nearer, Looked it calmly in the face; Then with slight and quiet gesture,...
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart. By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour'd laid:...
As they who watch by sick-beds find relief Unwittingly from the great stress of grief And anxious care, in fantasies outwrought From the hearth's embers flickering low, or caught...
Long had our dull forefathers slept supine, Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine; Till Chaucer first, the merry bard, arose, And many a story told in rhyme and prose....
Fine and feathery artisan, Best of Plumists (if you can With your art so far presume) Make for me a Prince's Plume-- Feathers soft and feathers rare, Such as suits a Prince to wear. ...
Like some sad spirit from an unknown shore Thou comest with two children in thine arms: Flushed, poppied Sleep, whom mortals aye adore, Her flowing raiment sculptured to her charms....
Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes, Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times: What foolish Patron, is there found of his, So blindly partial, to deny me this?...
Had you lived when a tyrant king Strove to make all the slaves of one, With nobles and with churchmen you Had stood unflinching, pure and true, To annihilate that hateful thing...
Where once we danced, where once sang, Gentlemen, The floors are sunken, cobwebs hang, And cracks creep; worms have fed upon The doors. Yea, sprightlier times were then...
How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours...
While one philosopher[2] affirms That by our senses we're deceived, Another[3] swears, in plainest terms, The senses are to be believed. The twain are right. Philosophy...
Whilst one philosopher tells us that men are constantly the dupes of their own senses, another will swear that the senses never deceive. Both are right. Philosophy truly affirms that the senses will deceive so long as men are c...
Dear Sherry, I'm sorry for your bloodsheded sore eye, And the more I consider your case, still the more I Regret it, for see how the pain on't has wore ye. Besides, the good Whigs, who strangely adore ye,...
The furniture that best doth please St. Patrick's Dean, good Sir, are these: The knife and fork with which I eat; And next the pot that boils the meat; The next to be preferr'd, I think,...