By the blue taper’s trembling ligh… No more I waste the wakeful night… Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o’er: Their books from wisdom widely str…

My days have been so wondrous free… The little birds that fly With careless ease from tree to tr… Were but as bless’d as I. Ask gliding waters, if a tear

From that dire æra, bane to Saru… Which broke his schemes and laid h… He talks and writes that Pop’ry w… And we, and he, and all his works… What touch’d himself was almost fa…

Hail to the sacred silence of this… Hail to the greens below the green… Oft have I found beneath these sh… A reall in imaginary bliss for they my fancy sooth she’s a c…

Oft have I seen a Piece of Art, Of Light and Shade, the Mixture… Speak all the Passions of the Hea… And shew true Life in every Line. But what is this before my Eyes,

My thought, on views of admiration… Intently ravish’d and depriv’d of… Now darts a while on earth, a whil… Here mov’d with praise and mov’d w… The joys entrancing and the mute s…

Gays gon out early, how comes it t… Not that he has buisness, but thin…

When rosy-finger’d Morn had ting’… Around their Monarch-Mouse the N… Slow rose the Monarch, heav’d his… And thus, the Council fill’d with… For lost Psycarpax much my Soul e…

The Man whose mind & actions… Can bravely triumph ore ye thought… He who unaltered fortunes Changes… Without elated or dejected lookes With a fixd carriage & undaunt…

Come hither, Boy, we’ll hunt to D… The Book-Worm, ravening Beast of… Produc’d by Parent Earth, at odds (As Fame reports it) with the God… Him frantick Hunger wildly drives

Lovely, lasting peace of mind! Sweet delight of human-kind! Heavenly-born, and bred on high, To crown the fav’rites of the sky With more of happiness below,

In Phœbus Wit (as Ovid said) Enchanting Beauty woo’d; In Daphne Beauty coily fled, While vainly Wit pursu’d. But when you trace what Ovid writ…

When Spring came on with fresh De… To cheer the Soul, and charm the… While easy Breezes, softer Rain, And warmer Suns salute the Plain; ’Twas then, in yonder Piny Grove,

Ye Wives who scold fishes sell, Or sing sell your fruit, I want a wondrous thing to tell, Then (if you can) be mute. From some of You one Homer came,

Now kind now coy wth how much chan… You feed my fierce desire As if to more extravagance Youd manage up the fire In vain if this your meaning be