Whether dispensing hope, and ease To the pale victim of disease, Or in the social crowd you sit, And charm the group with sense and wit, Moore's partial ear will not disdain Attention to my artless strain.
I mean no giddy heights to climb, And vainly toil to be sublime; While every line with labour wrought, Is swell'd with tropes for want of thought: Nor shall I call the Muse to shed...
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; The spinsters and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones Do use to chant it. It is silly, sooth,...
As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear, On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar; The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear, And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore. ...
Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre, The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire, And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace -...