Tho', Julia, we are doom'd to part, Tho' unknown pangs invade this heart, For thee the light of love shall burn, To thee my soul in secret turn: Upon this bosom, swell'd with care,...
Oh! why does sorrow shade thy face, Where mind and beauty vie with grace? Say, dost thou for thy hero weep, Who gallantly, upon the deep, Is gone to tell the madd'ning foe,...
Much injur'd, Scotia! was thy genuine worth, When late the[A] surly Rambler wandered forth In brown[B] surtout, with ragged staff, Enough to make a savage laugh! And sent the faithless legend from his hand,...
Bless'd are the steps of Virtue's queen! Where'er she moves fresh roses bloom; And, when she droops, kind Nature pours Her genuine tears in gentle show'rs, That love to dew the willow green...
A wreath from an immortal bough Should deck that gen'rous victor's brow, Who hears his captive's grateful praise Augment the thanks his country pays; For him the minstrel's song shall flow,...