English

Ye mighty masters of the song sublime,
Who, phantom-like, with large unwavering eyes,
Stalk down the solemn wilderness of Time,
Reading the mysteries of the future skies;
Oh, scorn not earth because it is not heaven;
Nor shake the dust against us from your feet,
Because we have rejected what was given!
Still let your tongues the wondrous theme repeat!
Though ye be friendless in this solitude,
Quick-winged thoughts, from many an unborn year,
God-sent, shall feed ye with prophetic food,

The morning comes, but brings no sun;
The sky with storm is overrun;
And here I sit in my room alone,
And feel, as I hear the tempest moan,
Like one who hath lost the last and best,
The dearest dweller from his breast!
For every pleasant sight and sound,
The sorrows of the sky have drowned;
The bell within the neighbouring tower,
Falls blurred and distant through the shower;
Look where I will, hear what I may,
All, all the world seems far away!
The dreary shutters creak and swing,
The windy willows sway and fling

To a neglectful Correspondent in Town.

You give me pause — no Answer yet!
Let's see how long you've been in Debt —
'Tis near two Months — a shameful Date;
But say, why thus reflecting late?
You're like the French, in Treaty wise;
But soon (like them) throw off Disguize;
And break through ev'ry Promise made —
Pray leave to France this shuffling Trade —
The English are of diff'rent Breeding,
Such low Finesse not worth our Heeding.

I N future, treat me with Respect,

Asleep the child fell
When night cast its spell;
The angels came near
With laughter and cheer.
Her watch at its waking the mother was keeping:
" How sweet, my dear child, was your smile now while sleeping! "

To God mother went,
From home it was rent;
Asleep the child fell
'Neath tears' troublous spell.
But soon it heard laughter and mother-words tender;
The angels brought dreams full of childhood's rare splendor.

It grew with the years,

I dare never speak up to you,
For you to look down would not do,
But always you are there each day,
And always I wander this way.
Our thoughts go by stealth to make search and renew it,
But neither dares question nor give answer due it;
 If only you knew it!

When constantly I could be found,
You often in pride on me frowned;
But now that I rarely appear,
I see that you wait for me here!
Two eyes, oh, two eyes made a snare and then drew it,

——Teneas tuis Te.

“They who in Quarrels interpose,
Must often wipe a bloody Nose.”
A Maxim this from honest Gay ,
And yet we find how far astray,
Blind Mortals wander ev'ry Day.
But little did I think Friend P** E ,
(You see I've hitch'd you in a Line)
Would so forget himself, and Bard,
For whom he had profess'd Regard,
As to neglect this golden Rule,
And thus display, the meddling Fool;
Impertinent , officious, wrong—
(Much better he had held his Tongue)
For let your Brother Artist know,

Evening is coming, the sun waxes red,
Radiant colors from heaven are beaming
Life's lustrous longings in infinite streaming; —
Glory in death o'er the mountains is spread.
Cupolas burn, but the fog in far masses
Over the bluish-black fields softly passes,
Rolling as whilom oblivion pale;
Hid is yon valley 'neath thousand years' veil.
Evening so red and warm
Glows as the people swarm,
Notes of the cornet flare,
Flowers and brown eyes fair.
Great men of old stand in marble erected,

Her mouth is like a dewy rose
That blows, but will not open quite;
Like flame turned down, her long hair glows
In thin, curled currents softly bright;
Her breasts and throat are marble-white.

Her lips will not have any kiss;
They draw away, they flash a smile, —
Half bashfulness, half scorn it is,
A silent ripple.... All the while
She meditates some charming wile.

Her feet below her drapery shine
Like roses under clinging sprays,
When, late in summer, lolls the vine; —

The princess looked down from her bower high,
The youth blew his horn as he lingered thereby.
" Be quiet, O youth, will forever you blow?
It hinders my thoughts, that would far away go,
Now, when sets the sun. "

The princess looked down from her bower high,
The youth ceased his blowing, his horn he laid by.
Why are you so quiet? Now more shall you blow,
It lifts all my thoughts, that would far away go,
Now, when sets the sun. "

The princess looked down from her bower high,

Those (Sir) who eye your truest worthines ,
Hardly do know it at the full t' expresse;
O in Arithmetick 'tis a great summe ,
May then the ignorant sort overcome,
According to the Rules which they ne're knew,
Sum up the worth in you, that shineth nue .

Well may they stand, and at your worth admire,
Entring to suns it up they'l quickly tyre;
Nue now it is what will be th' imitation,
That groweth now beyond all admiration.
VVorth , nothing else, no doubt, there is in you:
O send that nue worth then though it be new ;