Me tho' in life's sequester'd vale The Almighty sire ordain'd to dwell, Remote from glory's toilsome ways, And the great scenes of public praise; Yet let me still with grateful pride...
With sordid floods the wintry Urn Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green: Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, No longer a poetic scene. No longer there thy raptur'd eye...
The men renown'd as chiefs of human race, And born to lead in counsels or in arms, Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chace To dwell with books or court the Muse's charms....
Queen of my songs, harmonious maid, Ah why hast thou withdrawn thy aid? Ah why forsaken thus my breast With inauspicious damps oppress'd? Where is the dread prophetic heat,...
Believe me, Edwards, to restrain The license of a railer's tongue Is what but seldom men obtain By sense or wit, by prose or song: A task for more Herculean powers, Nor suited to the sacred hours...