Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have… Erewhile for Daphnis and for Hyla… And over Bion’s long-lamented bie… The fruitless meed of many a sacre… Now, through the villas laved by…

There was a time when Ætna’s sile… Slept unperceived, the mountain ye… When, conscious of no danger from… She tower’d a cloud-capt pyramid o… No thunders shook with deep intest…

Reasoning at every step he treads, Man yet mistakes his way, While meaner things whom instinct… Are rarely known to stray. One silent eve I wandered late,

Hark my soul! it is the Lord; ’Tis Thy Saviour, hear His word; Jesus speaks and speaks to thee, ‘Say poor sinner, lovst thou me? ’I deliver’d thee when bound,

To keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl; ’Tis water makes the willow thrive… And grace that feeds the soul. The Lord’s unsparing hand

His master taken from his head, Elisha saw him go; And in desponding accents said, ‘Ah, what must Israel do?’ But he forgot the Lord who lifts

Dear Joseph,—five and twenty year… Alas! how time escapes—’tis even s… With frequent intercourse and alwa… And always friendly we were wont t… A tedious hour,—and now we never m…

Kinsman beloved, and as a son by m… When I behold this fruit of thy r… The sculptured form of my old favo… I reverence feel for him, and love… Joy too and grief. Much joy that…

Thus heav’nward all things tend.… Perfect, and all must be at length… So God has greatly purpos’d; who… In his dishonour’d works himself e… Dishonour, and be wrong’d without…

He who sits from day to day Where the prisoned lark is hung, Heedless of his loudest lay, Hardly knows that he has sung. Where the watchman in his round

William was once a bashful youth; His modesty was such, That one might say (to say the tru… He rather had too much. Some said that it was want of sens…

Romney, expert infallibly to trace On chart of canvas, not the form a… And semblance, but, however faintl… The mind’s impression too on every… With strokes that time ought never…

‘Me too, perchance, in future days… The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. ’But I, or e’er that season come,

Doomed, as I am, in solitude to w… The present moments, and regret th… Deprived of every joy I valued mo… My friend torn from me, and my mis… Call not this gloom I wear, this…

Could Homer come himself, distres… And tune his harp at Rhedicina’s… The rich old vixen would exclaim,… ‘Begone! no tramper gets a farthin…