Works

When men exert their utmost pow'rs,
To while away the tedious hours,
With soothing Flatt'ry's art,
When ev'ry art and work well skill'd,
And ev'ry look with poison fill'd,
Assail a woman's heart,
...

Whilst, in a dress that one might swear
The whole was made of woven air,
Pert Fashion spreads her senseless sway
Over the giddy and the gay
(Who think, by showing all their charms,...

The Moon had bespangled the murmuring wave,
The dew-drop had moisten'd the moss of the cave,
The summer night-breeze, like a sigh, was just heard,
When thus flow'd the strains of the dark-warbling bird:
...

In Mousseau's sweet Arcadian dale
Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;
She charms the list'ning nightingale,
And seems th' enchantress of the plain.

Bless'd be those lips, to music dear;...

Still Summer lingers on these peaceful shores,
Nor yet she quits her rose-erected bow'r;
Tho' oft in many a dew-drop she explores
Her beauties fading in each passing hour!
...

Reader! I do not wish to brag;
But, to display Eliza's skill,
I'd proudly be the vilest rag
That ever went to paper-mill.

Content in pieces to be cut;
Tho' sultry were the summer-skies,...

Tho' leafless are the woods, tho' flow'rs no more,
In beauty blushing, spread their fragrant store,
Yet still 'tis sweet to quit the crowded scene,
And rove with Nature, tho' no longer green;...

Delicious gloom! asylum of repose!
Within your verdant shades, your tranquil bound,
A wretched fugitive[A], oppress'd by woes,
The balm of peace, that long had left him, found.
...

Who supports herself, and an aged and infirm Mother, by selling Stockings and Gloves of her own Knitting, which she offers to Travellers as they pass by; in doing which she has been known to run close by the Side of a Carriage ...

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,...

Ah! hapless stranger! who, without a tear,
Can this sad record of thy fate survey?
No angry tempest laid thee breathless here,
Nor hostile sword, nor Nature's mild decay.
...

- "they show an outward hideousness,
And speak off half a dozen dang'rous words,
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst;
And this is all."

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, Act V. Scene 4.

...

[The French is by Bosquillon, which I translated as under, in a beautiful Swedish island in the Baltic, as I sat by the side of a fine clear stream of rock-water.]


ORIGINAL.
...

Emma! 'tis early time for thee
To hear the sounds of minstrelsy,
That breathe around the rosy shrine
Of honest old Saint Valentine.

Too young art thou for strains of love;...