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Page ix - Such a nation might truly say to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother and my sister.
Page 226 - Twixt her wild passions and her will ; Haunted and hagg'd where'er she roves, By purling streams and silent groves, Or with her Furies, or her Loves. Then our own native land we hate, Too cold, too windy, or too wet ; Change the thick climate, and repair To France or Italy for air : In vain we change, in vain we fly ; Go, Sylvia, mount the whirling sky, Or...
Page 87 - Hark, how he prays (the charming sound Dwells on his dying lips) " Forgive ! " And every groan, and gaping wound. Cries,
Page 286 - ... depths of woe ; Young mothers, who your darling babes have found Untimely murder'd with a ghastly wound ; Ye frighted nymphs, who on the bridal bed...
Page 170 - Safe from the smiling and the frowning world. Yet once a day drop down a gentle look On the...
Page 79 - Now let me mount and join their song, And be an angel too ; My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue — Here's joyful work for you.
Page 185 - Glittering stones, and golden things, Wealth and honours that have wings, Ever fluttering to be gone, I could never call my own: Riches that the world bestows, She can take, and I can lose; But the treasures that are mine Lie afar beyond her line. When I view my spacious soul, And survey myself a whole, And enjoy myself alone, I'ma kingdom of my own.
Page 128 - I am held in his embrace, There's not a thought attempts to rove : Each smile he wears upon his face Fixes and charms and fires my love.