Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictur'd scenes Beguile the lonely hour; I sit and gaze With lingering eye, till charmed FANCY makes The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul...
Jacob! I do not like to see thy nose Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder pig, It would be well, my friend, if we like him, Were perfect in our kind!... And why despise...
What! and not one to heave the pious sigh! Not one whose sorrow-swoln and aching eye For social scenes, for life's endearments fled, Shall drop a tear and dwell upon the dead!...
And I was once like this! that glowing cheek Was mine, those pleasure-sparkling eyes, that brow Smooth as the level lake, when not a breeze Dies o'er the sleeping surface! twenty years...