Ye darksome Woods where Echo dwells, Where every bud with freedom swells To meet the glorious day: The morning breaks; again rejoice; And with old Ringwood's well-known voice Bid tuneful Echo play....
Thy favourite Bird is soaring still: My Lucy, haste thee o'er the dale; The Stream's let loose, and from the Mill All silent comes the balmy gale; Yet, so lightly on its way, Seems to whisper 'Holiday.'...
How bright with pearl the western sky! How glorious far and wide, Yon lines of golden clouds that lie So peaceful side by side! Their deep'ning tints, the arch of light, All eyes with rapture see;...
You ask me, dear Nancy, what makes me presume That you cherish a secret affection for me? When we see the Flow'rs bud, don't we look for the Bloom? Then, sweetest, attend, while I answer to thee. ...
Hey, Giles! in what new garb art dresst? For Lads like you methinks a bold one; I'm glad to see thee so caresst; But, hark ye! - don't despise your old one....
'Come, Goody, stop your humdrum wheel, Sweep up your orts, and get your Hat; Old joys reviv'd once more I feel, 'Tis Fair-day; - ay, and more than that.
[Footnote: Sickness may be often an incentive to poetical composition; I found it so; and I esteem the following lines only because they remind me of past feelings which I would not willingly forget.]
Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll roam; But follow my shadow that points the way home; Your gay southern Shores shall not tempt me to stay; For my Maggy's at Home, and my Children at play!...
A sonnet has come to my hands, the production, - and nearly the first poetical Production, - of a very young Lady. I have not the Author's consent to publish it: and there is no time to ask it. But I cannot omit adding such a f...
Near the high road upon a winding stream An honest Miller rose to Wealth and Fame: The noblest Virtues cheer'd his lengthen'd days, And all the Country echo'd with his praise:...
ROVER, awake! the grey Cock crows! Come, shake your coat and go with me! High in the East the green Hill glows; And glory crowns our shelt'ring Tree. The Sheep expect us at the fold:...
I had folded my flock, and my heart was o'erflowing, I loiter'd beside the small lake on the heath; The red sun, though down, left his drapery glowing, And no sound was stirring, I heard not a breath:...
My untried muse shall no high tone assume, Nor strut in arms; - farewell my cap and plume: Brief be my verse, a task within my power, I tell my feelings in one happy hour;...
Dear Boy, throw that Icicle down, And sweep this deep Snow from the door: Old Winter comes on with a frown; A terrible frown for the poor. In a Season so rude and forlorn...