Me to whatever state the gods assi… Believe, my love, whatever state b… Ne’er shall my breast one anxious… Ne’er shall my heart confess a rea… If to thy share heaven’s choicest…

My former hopes are fled, My terror now begins; I feel, alas! that I am dead In trespasses and sins. Ah, whither shall I fly?

Thracian parents, at his birth, Mourn their babe with many a tear, But, with undissembled mirth, Place him breathless on his bier. Greece and Rome, with equal score…

In these sad hours, a prey to ceas… While feverish pulses leap in ever… When each faint breath the last sh… Of life just parting from my feebl… How wild soe’er my wandering thoug…

Two Poets, (poets, by report, Not oft so well agree,) Sweet harmonist of Flora’s court! Conspire to honour thee. They best can judge a poet’s worth…

Say, ye apostate and profane, Wretches, who blush not to disdain Allegiance to your God,— Did e’er your idly wasted love Of virtue for her sake remove

Man, on the dubious waves of error… His ship half founder’d, and his c… Sees, far as human optics may comm… A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry… Spreads all his canvas, every sine…

Too many, Lord, abuse Thy grace In this licentious day, And while they boast they see Thy… They turn their own away. Thy book displays a gracious light

Dear architect of fine Chateaux i… Worthier to stand for ever, if the… Than any built of stone, or yet of… For back of royal elephant to bear… Oh for permission from the skies t…

Far happier are the dead, methinks… Who look for death, and fear it ev…

SCENE I.—Adam and Eve. Oh, my beloved companion! Oh thou of my existence, The very heart and soul! Hast thou, with such excess of ten…

Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on His wings; When comforts are declining,

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

‘Me too, perchance, in future days… The sculptured stone shall show, With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. ’But I, or e’er that season come,

Here lies one who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne’er pulled tr… Armed men have gladly made