Give me a cottage on some Cambria… Where, far from cities, I may spe… And, by the beauties of the scene… May pity man’s pursuits, and shun… While on the rock I mark the brow…

Sleep, baby mine, enkerchieft on m… Thy cries they pierce again my ble… Sleep, baby mine, not long thou’lt… To lull thee fondly in her arms to… Baby, why dost thou keep this sad…

Lofft, unto thee one tributary son… The simple Muse, admiring, fain w… She longs to lisp thee to the list… And with thy name to bid the woodl… Fain would she blazon all thy virt…

Sublime, emerging from the misty v… Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I… As, sweeping o’er the leafless gro… Seems to repeat the year’s funerea… Now Autumn sickens on the languid…

Genius of musings, who, the midnig… Wasting in woods or haunted forest… Dost watch Orion in his arctic to… Thy dark eye fix’d as in some holy… Or when the vollied lightnings cle…

Beams of the daybreak faint! I ha… Your dubious hues, as on the robe Of night, which wraps the slumberi… I mark your traces pale. Tired with the taper’s sickly ligh…

Thou simple Lyre! thy music wild Has served to charm the weary hour… And many a lonely night has 'guile… When even pain has own’d, and smil… Its fascinating power.

Hence, away, vindictive thought; Thy pictures are of pain; The visions through thy dark eye c… They with no gentle charms are fra… So pr’y thee back again.

Come all ye true hearts, who, Old… Now shoulder the musket, or plough… I will sing you a song of a wonder… Who has ruin’d Jack Pudding, and… Derry down, down, high derry down.

Mild orb, who floatest through the… A pathless wanderer o’er a lonely… Welcome to me thy soft and pensive… Which oft in childhood my lone tho… Now doubly dear as o’er my silent…

Fast from the west the fading day-… And ebon Night assumes her solemn… Yet here alone, unheeding time, I… And o’er my friend still pour the… Oh! ’tis not long since, George,…

Some to Aonian lyres of silver so… With winning elegance attune their… Form’d to sink lightly on the soot… And charm the soul with softest ha… ’Tis then that Hope with sanguine…

Yes, it will be over soon.-This s… Of life will vanish from my feveri… And death my wearied spirit will r… From this wild region of unvaried… Yon brook will glide as softly as…

Yes, once more that dying strain, Anna, touch thy lute for me; Sweet, when pity’s tones complain, Doubly sweet is melody. While the Virtues thus enweave

O Lord, another day is flown, And we, a lonely band, Are met once more before thy thron… To bless thy fostering hand. And wilt thou bend a listening ear…