(1793)
O FOR a voice like thunder, and… To drown the throat of war! When… Are shaken, and the soul is driven… Who can stand? When the souls of… Fight in the troubled air that rag…
HEAR then the pride and knowledg… His sprit sail, fore sail, main sa… A poor frail man—God wot! I know… I know no greater sinner than Joh…
He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy He who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise
THE BELL struck one, and shook… The graves give up their dead: fai… Walk’d by the castle gate, and loo… A hollow groan ran thro’ the drear… She shriek’d aloud, and sunk upon…
The little boy lost in the lonely… Led by the wandering light, Began to cry, but God, ever nigh, Appeared like his father, in white… He kissed the child, and by the ha…
The sun does arise, And make happy the skies. The merry bells ring To welcome the spring. The skylark and thrush,
THOU fair-hair’d angel of the ev… Now, whilst the sun rests on the m… Thy bright torch of love; thy radi… Put on, and smile upon our evening… Smile on our loves, and while thou…
My mother bore me in the southern… And I am black, but O! my soul is… White as an angel is the English… But I am black, as if bereav’d of… My mother taught me underneath a t…
“I have no name: I am but two days old.” What shall I call thee? “I happy am, Joy is my name.”
How sweet I roam’d from field to… And tasted all the summer’s pride, 'Till I the prince of love beheld… Who in the sunny beams did glide! He shew’d me lilies for my hair,
Is this a holy thing to see In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song?
Merry, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow,
THIS city and this country has b… To sit in state, and give forth la… With face as brown as any nut with… Good English hospitality, O then… With scarlet gowns and broad gold…
COME, kings, and listen to my so… When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His cruel sceptre bore; The nobles of the land did feed
‘Nought loves another as itself, Nor venerates another so, Nor is it possible to thought A greater than itself to know. ’And, father, how can I love you