#IrishWriters
The Persians us’d at setting of y… To howl, as if he nere again shoul… They onely acted it but we indeed Must doot for all that lovely was… all that was great good Just &…
When ore my temples balmy vapours… Whose soft suffusion dims the sink… Gay dreams in troops fantastically… On silent plumes wave down through… Nights sable curtains draw before…
From that dire æra, bane to Saru… Which broke his schemes and laid h… He talks and writes that Pop’ry w… And we, and he, and all his works… What touch’d himself was almost fa…
Now Crowds more off, retiring tru… On Eccho’s dying in their last re… The notes of fancy seem no longer… But sweetning closes fitt a privat… So when the storms forsake ye seas…
On verdurd trees ye silver blossom… Whose leaves atop their perfect wh… & faintly streak with stains o… The western breeze steales ore ye… to sigh near roses as insnard by l…
Now early Shepherds o’er the Mead… And print long Foot-steps in the… The Cows neglectful of their Past… By turns obsequious to the Milker… When Damon softly trod the shaven…
From the bleak Beach and broad ex… To lofty Salem, Thought direct th… Mount thy light chariot, move alon… And end thy flight where Hezekiah… How swiftly thought has pass’d fro…
O Tell if any fate you see Can more unhappy prove Than where the nymph will cruell b… & still the swain must love Twere Joy to sigh & serve a f…
Upon a time, and in a place, With Pan Apollo playd, Grave Midas sat to Judge ye case, And Pan ye Victour made. The Rustick to his Fauns withdrew…
Just when ye dead of night began t… & boding visions senceless dre… Methought a matron stood beside my… Upon her face a wondrous sweetness… & pointed Glorys dressd the mo…
Here Great Erasmus resteth all of… That Death can touch or Monument… Thy Hope and Virtue soard ye loft… Round ye wide world thy Fame &… Those meet rewards above and these…
Oft have I read that Innocence re… Where cooling streams salute ye su… Singing at ease she roves ye field… Or safe with shepheards lys among… But late alas I crossd a country…
To the kind powr who taught me how… Thus with the first of all wch he… Did ancient piety approach the Go… Defended long by prejudice & p… Ive fancyd love a cant its god def…
The Father lying in Bed hugging in his left arm a pot of Mony & laying severall pieces out of it before him. the son sitts at his feet in the habit of a souldier taking with his rig...
’Twas when the night in silent sab… When chearful morning sprung with… When dreams and vapours leave to c… And best the Vision draws its hea… ’Twas then, as slumb’ring on my co…