Come back to your mother, ye children, for shame, Who have wandered like truants for riches or fame! With a smile on her face, and a sprig in her cap, She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap. ...
Go, faithless bloom! on Delia's cheek Your boasted captivations try; Alas! o'er Nature would you seek To gain one moment's victory? Her softer tint, sweet look, and gentle air,...
The death of men is not the death Of rights that urged them to the fray; For men may yield On battle-field A noble life with stainless shield, And swords may rust Above their dust,...
Tho' unknown is the hand that bestow'd thee on me, Sweet leaf! ev'ry fibre I'll warm with a kiss: With the fame of her beauty thou well dost agree, Whose presence shews conquest, whose triumph is bliss!
Show me again the time When in the Junetide's prime We flew by meads and mountains northerly! - Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fulness, fineness, freeness, Love lures life on. ...
Oh! form'd to prompt the smile or tear, At once so sweet, yet so severe! As much for you as him I grieve; Ah! thoughtless! if you thus can leave A mind with wit and learning bright,...
I look'd the fragrant garden round For what I thought would picture best Thy beauty and thy modesty; A lily and a rose I found, - With kisses on their leaves imprest, I send the beauteous pair to thee.
Since Friendship soon must bid a fond adieu, And, parting, wish your charms she never knew, Dear Laura hear one genuine thought express'd, Warm from the heart, and to the heart address'd: -...
When Heav'n, sweet Laura! form'd thy mind, With genius and with taste refin'd, As if the union were too bright, It spread the veil of diffidence, That ev'ry ray, at first intense,...
Within his cold and cheerless cell, I heard the sighing Censor tell That ev'ry charm of life was gone, That ev'ry noble virtue long Had ceas'd to wake the Minstrel's song,...
Tho' nought, amid these darkened groves, But various groups of death appear, Scar'd at the sight, tho' fly the Loves, And Sickness saddens all the year,
Oh! with what genuine pleasure do I trace Each line of that long-lov'd, accustom'd, face, Where Time, as if enchanted, and imprest With all the virtues of thy peaceful breast,...