Israel in ancient days Not only had a view Of Sinai in a blaze, But learn’d the Gospel too; The types and figures were a glass…

You bid me write to amuse the tedi… And save from withering my poetic… Hard is the task, my friend, for v… From the free mind, not fettered d… Restless amidst unceasing tempests…

Thee, whose refulgent staff and su… Minerva’s flock longtime was wont… Although thyself an herald, famous… The last of heralds, Death, has s… He calls on all alike, nor even de…

The works of ancient bards divine, Aulus, thou scorn’st to read; And should posterity read thine, It would be strange indeed! When little more than boy in age,

The new-born child of gospel grace… Like some fair tree when summer’s… Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on hi… No fears he feels, he sees no foes…

How happy are the new–born race, Partakers of adopting grace! How pure the bliss they share! Hid from the world and all its eye… Within their heart the blessing li…

When the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country’s gods, Sage beneath a spreading oak

Love! if thy destined sacrifice am… Come, slay thy victim, and prepare… Plunged in thy depths of mercy, le… The death which every soul that li… I watch my hours, and see them fle…

No longer I follow a sound; No longer a dream I pursue; Oh happiness! not to be found, Unattainable treasure, adieu! I have sought thee in splendour an…

Dear President, whose art sublime Gives perpetuity to time, And bids transactions of a day, That fleeting hours would waft awa… To dark futurity, survive,

No more shall hapless Celia’s ear… Be flattered with the cries Of lovers drowned in floods of tea… Or murdered by her eyes; No serenades to break her rest,

To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wa… The snail sticks close, nor fears… As if he grew there, house and all Together. Within that house secure he hides,

Sun! stay thy course, this moment… Suspend the o’er flowing tide of d… Divulge not such a love as mine, Ah! hide the mystery divine; Lest man, who deems my glory shame…

Maria, could Horace have guessed What honour awaited his ode To his little volume addressed, The honour which you have bestowed… Who have traced it in characters h…

No mischief worthier of our fear In nature can be found Than friendship, in ostent sincere… But hollow and unsound, For lull’d into a dangerous dream