HOW sweet 1 I roam’d from field… And tasted all the summer’s pride, Till I the Prince of Love beheld Who in the sunny beams did glide! He show’d me lilies for my hair,
Whether on Ida’s shady brow, Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceas’d; Whether in Heav’n ye wander fair,
FRESH from the dewy hill, the me… Smiles on my head and mounts his f… Round my young brows the laurel wr… And rising glories beam around my… My feet are wing’d, while o’er the…
WHEN the green woods laugh with… And the dimpling stream runs laugh… When the air does laugh with our m… And the green hill laughs with the… When the meadows laugh with lively…
WHEN silver snow decks Sylvio’s… And jewel hangs at shepherd’s nose… We can abide life’s pelting storm, That makes our limbs quake, if our… Whilst Virtue is our walking-staf…
Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my angel—guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, wildered and forlorn,
JUSTICE hath heaved a sword to plunge in Albion’s breast; for Albion’s sins are crimson dy’d, and the red scourge follows her desolate sons. Then Patriot rose; full oft did Patriot rise...
AS I walk’d forth one May mornin… To see the fields so pleasant and… O! there did I spy a young maiden… Among the violets that smell so sw… smell so sweet,
Whate’er is born of mortal birth Must be consumed with the earth, To rise from generation free: Then what have I to do with thee? The sexes sprung from shame and pr…
COME, kings, and listen to my so… When Gwin, the son of Nore, Over the nations of the North His cruel sceptre bore; The nobles of the land did feed
Dear mother, dear mother, the chur… But the ale—house is healthy and p… Besides I can tell where I am use… Such usage in Heaven will never d… But if at the church they would gi…
My mother groan’d! my father wept. Into the dangerous world I leapt: Helpless, naked, piping loud, Like a fiend hid in a cloud. Struggling in my father’s hands,
`I die, I die!' the Mother said, `My children die for lack of bread… What more has the merciless tyrant… The Monk sat down on the stony be… The blood red ran from the Grey M…
“I have no name: I am but two days old.” What shall I call thee? “I happy am, Joy is my name.”
Pity would be no more If we did not make somebody poor, And Mercy no more could be If all were as happy as we. And mutual fear brings Peace,
