What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs, What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, I sing ' This Verse to C, , Muse! is due; This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:...
What dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs, What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, I sing, This Verse to C---, Muse! is due; This, ev'n Belinda may vouchfafe to view:...
Not with more glories, in th' etherial plain, The sun first rises o'er the purpled main, Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams Launch'd on the bosom of the silver Thames....
Close by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs, Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs, There stands a structure of majestic frame, Which from the neighb'ring Hampton takes its name....
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd, And secret passions labour'd in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,...
She said: the pitying audience melt in tears, But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails?...
All peacefully gliding, The waters dividing, The indolent b'tteau moved slowly along, The rowers, light-hearted, From sorrow long parted, Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:...
There is a little unpretending Rill Of limpid water, humbler far than aught That ever among Men or Naiads sought Notice or name! It quivers down the hill, Furrowing its shallow way with dubious will;...
The listless Palm-trees catch the breeze above The pile-built huts that edge the salt Lagoon, There is no Breeze to cool the heat of love, No wind from land or sea, at night or noon. ...
There's naethin like the honest nappy! Whaur'll ye e'er see men sae happy, Or women, sonsie, saft an' sappy, 'Tween morn an' morn As them wha like to taste the drappie In glass or horn? ...
There was a bonnie lass, And a bonnie, bonnie lass, And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear; Till war's loud alarms Tore her laddie frae her arms, Wi' mony a sigh and tear.
There was a little man, And he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; He went to the brook And saw a little duck, And he shot it right through the head, head, head.
The Lady sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, And with jocund din among them all, Her son pursued his infant play. A fancied moss-trooper, the boy...
Sole listener, Duddon! to the breeze that played With thy clear voice, I caught the fitful sound Wafted o'er sullen moss and craggy mound, Unfruitful solitudes, that seemed to upbraid...