Cold was the night wind, drifting… Wide were the downs and shelterles… When a poor Wanderer struggled on… Weary and way-sore. Drear were the downs, more dreary…

If thou didst feed on western plai… Or waddle wide with flat and flabb… Over some Cambrian mountain’s pla… Or find in farmer’s yard a safe re… From gipsy thieves and foxes sly a…

A wrinkled crabbed man they pictur… Old Winter, with a rugged beard a… As the long moss upon the apple-tr… Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp… Close muffled up, and on thy drear…

For thirty years secluded from man… Here Marten linger’d. Often have… Echoed his footsteps, as with even… He paced around his prison: not to… Did Nature’s fair varieties exist…

“Lo I, the man who erst the Muse… Her deepest notes to swell the Pa… Am now enforst a far unfitter task For cap and gown to leave my minst… For yon dull noise that tinkles on…

Small is the new-born plant scarce… Amid the soft encircling green, Where yonder budding acorn rears, Just o’er the waving grass, its te… Slow pass along the train of years…

I charm thy life, From the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, From fire and from flood, From the serpent’s tooth,

A Well there is in the west count… And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the west co… But has heard of the Well of St.… An oak and an elm-tree stand besid…

ACT III. SCENE—SMITHFIELD. PIERS (meeting JOHN BALL.) You look disturb’d, my father? JOHN BALL.

Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictu… Beguile the lonely hour; I sit an… With lingering eye, till charmed… The lovely landscape live, and the… From the foul haunts of herded hum…

Tho’ now no more the musing ear Delights to listen to the breeze That lingers o’er the green wood s… I love thee Winter! well. Sweet are the harmonies of Spring…

How darkly o’er yon far-off mounta… The gather’d tempest! from that lu… The deep-voiced thunders roll, awe… Tho’ distant; while upon the misty… Fast falls in shadowy streaks the…

Think Valentine, as speeding on t… Homeward thou hastest light of hea… If heavily creep on one little day The medley crew of travellers amon… Think on thine absent friend: refl…

Art thou a Patriot Traveller? on… Did FALKLAND fall the blameles… Beneath a Tyrant’s banners: dost… Of loyal ardor? HAMBDEN perish… The rebel HAMBDEN, at whose gl…

My days among the Dead are past; Around me I behold, Where’er these casual eyes are cas… The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they,