Mild offspring of a dark and sulle… Whose modest form, so delicately f… Was nursed in whirling storms And cradled in the winds; Thee, when young Spring first que…

Oh! who would cherish life, And cling unto this heavy clog of… Love this rude world of strife, Where glooms and tempests cloud th… And where, 'neath outward smiles,

And canst thou, Mother, for a mom… That we, thy children, when old ag… Its blanching honours on thy weary… Could from our best of duties ever… Sooner the sun from his high spher…

BOOK I. I sing the Cross!-Ye white-robed… Who know the chords of harmony to… Ye who o’er holy David’s varying… Were wont, of old, your hovering w…

Lo! in the west, fast fades the li… And day’s last vestige takes its s… No more is heard the woodman’s mea… Which with the dawn from yonder di… No more, hoarse clamouring o’er th…

When pride and envy, and the scorn Of wealth my heart with gall imbue… I thought how pleasant were the mo… Of silence, in the solitude; To hear the forest bee on wing;

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…

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

What art thou, Mighty One! and wh… Thou broodest on the calm that che… And thou dost bear within thine aw… The rolling thunders and the light… Stern on thy dark-wrought car of c…

Down the sultry arc of day The burning wheels have urged thei… And eve along the western skies Sheds her intermingling dyes. Down the deep, the miry lane,

Ye unseen spirits, whose wild melo… At evening rising slow, yet sweetl… Steal on the musing poet’s pensive… As by the wood-spring stretch’d su… When he, who now invokes you, low…

Bloomfield, thy happy omen’d name Ensures continuance to thy fame; Both sense and truth this verdict… While fields shall bloom, thy name…

Emblem of life! see changeful Apr… In varying vest along the shadowy… Now bidding summer’s softest zephy… Anon recalling winter’s stormy gal… And pouring from the cloud her sud…

Oh! thou who, in my early youth, When fancy wore the garb of truth, Wert wont to win my infant feet To some retired, deep fabled seat, Where, by the brooklet’s secret ti…

Sweet scented flower! who art wont… On January’s front severe, And o’er the wintry desert drear To waft thy waste perfume! Come, thou shalt form my nosegay n…