#IrishWriters
Strephon & I upon a bank were… Where the gay spring in varied col… & her rich odours lavish natur… When thus the Youth, while this w… Can we but wonder at its maker too…
Vast was his soul some favorite ab… Whose bolder pencil made a boy of… A boy he thought him lovers less t… Who barter all things for a crop o… He wisely too his roving pow’r bes…
The morning opens very freshly gay And life itself is in the month of… With green my fancy paints an arbo… And flowrets with a thousand colou… Then falls to weaving that, and sp…
To the kind powr who taught me how… Thus with the first of all wch he… Did ancient piety approach the Go… Defended long by prejudice & p… Ive fancyd love a cant its god def…
Mother of plenty, daughter of the… Sweet Peace, the troubl’d world’s… Around thy poet weave thy summer s… Within my fancy spread thy flow’ry… Amongst thy train soft ease and pl…
From the bleak Beach and broad ex… To lofty Salem, Thought direct th… Mount thy light chariot, move alon… And end thy flight where Hezekiah… How swiftly thought has pass’d fro…
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…
In vain, poor Nymph, to please ou… You sleep in cream and frontlets a… Your face with patches soil, with… Dress with gay gowns, and shade wi… If truth in spight of manners must…
Propitious Son of God to thee With all my soul I bend my knee, My wish I send my want impart, And dedicate my mind and heart, For as an absent parent’s son
Look mercyfully down O Lord & wash us from our sinn Cleanse us from wicked deeds witho… from wicked thoughts within Lord I Confess my many sinns
Compassion checks my spleen, yet… The tears a passage thro’ my swell… To laugh or weep at sins, might id… Unheedful passion, or unfruitful w… Satyr! arise, and try thy sharper…
Where waving Pines the brows of I… The swain young Paris half supine… Saw the loose Flocks thro’ shrubs… And Piping call’d them to the gla… ’Twas there he met the Message of…
From Town fair Arabella flies, The Beaux unpowder’d grieve, The Rivers play before her eyes, The Breezes softly breathing rise The Spring begins to live.
Health & advice an old acquain… Health & advice, the wish &… Tis fitt I teach the templar how… Who teaches me with temperance to… Be still then murmuring Clients f…
Hadst thou but livd before ye God… That Heathens ownd ye world might… ‘If any settled seat ye Muses use ’Thou art that seat or art thy sel…
