You've read, sir, in poetic strain, How Varus and the Mantuan swain Have on my birth-day been invited, (But I was forced in verse to write it,) Upon a plain repast to dine,...
Shall then my kindred all my glory claim, And boldly rob me of eternal fame? To every art my gen'rous aid I lend, To music, painting, poetry, a friend. 'Tis I celestial harmony inspire,...
Time, since thou gav'st this flow'r to me, Has often turn'd his glass of sand; Perchance 'tis now unknown to thee That once its breath perfum'd thy hand.
Are the guests of this house still doom'd to be cheated? Sure the Fates have decreed they by halves should be treated. In the days of good John[1] if you came here to dine,...
Curse on ungrateful man, that can be pleas'd, And yet can starve the author of the pleasure! O thou my elder brother in misfortune, By far my elder brother in the muses, With tears I pity thy unhappy fate!...
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the virgins of the sylvan train None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improved the vegetable care. To her the shady grove, the flowery field,...
The fair Pomona flourish'd in his reign; Of all the Virgins of the sylvan train, None taught the trees a nobler race to bear, Or more improv'd the vegetable care. To her the shady grove, the flow'ry field,...
While fond, sad memories all around us throng, Silence were sweeter than the sweetest song; Yet when the leaves are green and heaven is blue, The choral tribute of the grove is due,...
I care not that one listen if he lives For aught but life's romance, nor puts above All life's necessities the need to love, Nor counts his greatest wealth what Beauty gives....
Now being on the eve of death, discharged From every mortal hope and earthly care, I questioned how my soul might best employ This hand, and this still wakeful flame of mind,...
Pleasant it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go; ...
Bright was the summer sky, the Mornings gay, And Jane was young and chearful as the Day. Not yet to Love but Mirth she paid her vows; And Echo mock'd her as she call'd her Cows....
That old warmin pan wi' it's raand, brazzen face, Has hung thear for monny a day; 'Twor mi Gronny's, an th' haase wodn't luk like th' same place, If we tuk th' owd utensil away. ...