The straw-stuffed hamper with its… He open’d, cutting sheer th’ inser… Which bound the lid and lip secure… The rustling package first, bright… Or oats, or barley; next a bottle…

Did Cytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise? Or was it Cytherea’s touch, When bathing here, that made it su…

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…

Go—thou art all unfit to share The pleasures of this place With such as its old tenants are, Creatures of gentler race. The squirrel here his hoard provid…

Trust me the meed of praise, dealt… From the nice scale of judgement,… Than does the lavish and o’erbeari… Of profuse courtesy. Not all the… Of India’s richest soil at random…

These are not dew-drops, these are… And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand

All-worshipped Gold! thou mighty… Say by what name shall I address… Our blessing, or our bane? Withou… The generous pangs of pity but dis… The human heart, that fain would f…

I was a grovelling creature once, And basely cleaved to earth: I wanted spirit to renounce The clod that gave me birth. But God hath breathed upon a worm…

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,

(Judges, VI.25) Jesus! whose blood so freely strea… To satisfy the law’s demand; By Thee from guilt and wrath rede… Before the Father’s face I stand.

To tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task! Nor less to praise Him when He gr… Beyond what I can ask. My laboring spirit vainly seeks

While thirteen moons saw smoothly… The Nen’s barge-laden wave, All these, life’s rambling journey… Have found their home, the grave. Was man (frail always) made more f…

Learn ye nations of the earth The condition of your birth, Now be taught your feeble state, Know, that all must yield to Fate… If the mournful Rover, Death,

In these sad hours, a prey to ceas… While feverish pulses leap in ever… When each faint breath the last sh… Of life just parting from my feebl… How wild soe’er my wandering thoug…

When wit and genius meet their doo… In all devouring flame, They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O’er Murray’s loss the Muses wept…