Sweet tenants of this grove! Who sing without design, A song of artless love, In unison with mine: These echoing shades return

A Peasant to his lord yearly cour… Presenting pippins of so rich a so… That he, displeased to have a part… Removed the tree, that all might b… The tree, too old to travel, thoug…

Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a… With much hard labor in thy servic… He set the vines that clothe yon a… And he these olives that the vale… He fill’d with grain the glebe; th…

That thou mayst injure no man, dov… And serpent-like, that none may in…

’Tis morning; and the sun, with ru… Ascending, fires th’ horizon: whil… That crowd away before the driving… More ardent as the disk emerges mo… Resemble most some city in a blaze…

Maria, could Horace have guessed What honour awaited his ode To his little volume addressed, The honour which you have bestowed… Who have traced it in characters h…

Jesus! whose blood so freely strea… To satisfy the law’s demand; By Thee from guilt and wrath rede… Before the Father’s face I stand. To reconcile offending man,

God of my life, to Thee I call, Afflicted at Thy feet I fall; When the great water-floods prevai… Leave not my trembling heart to fa… Friend of the friendless and the f…

She came—she is gone—we have met— And meet perhaps never again; The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled like a dream

My name—my country—what are they t… What, whether base or proud my ped… Perhaps I far surpass’d all other… Perhaps I fell below them all—wha… Suffice it, stranger! that thou se…

SCENE I.—CHORUS OF ANGEL… Now let us garlands weave Of all the fairest flowers, Now at this early dawn, For new-made man, and his companio…

Oh! to some distant scene, a willi… From the wild roar of this busy wo… Were it my fate with Delia to ret… With her to wander through the syl… Each morn, or o’er the moss-embrow…

Hastings! I knew thee young, and… While young humane, conversable, a… Nor can I well believe thee, gent… Now grown a villain, and the worst… But rather some suspect, who have…

Bestow, dear Lord, upon our youth The gift of saving grace; And let the seed of sacred truth Fall in a fruitful place. Grace is a plant, where’er it grow…

Patron of all those luckless brain… That, to the wrong side leaning, Indite much metre with much pains, And little or no meaning; Ah why, since oceans, rivers, stre…