AWAY! away! Tempt me no more, insidious Love: Thy soothing sway Long did my youthful bosom prove: At length thy treason is discern’d…

Whither did my fancy stray? By what magic drawn away Have I left my studious theme? From this philosophic page, From the problems of the sage,

How thick the shades of evening cl… How pale the sky with weight of sn… Haste, light the tapers, urge the… And bid the joyless day retire. —Alas, in vain i try within

Approach in silence. ’tis no vulga… Which I, the Dryad of this hoary… Pronounce to mortal ears. The sec… Now hasteneth to its period, since… On this fair lawn. The groves of…

I. 1. Once more I join the Thespian cho… And taste the inspiring fount agai… O parent of the Grecian lyre, Admit me to thy powerful strain—

With sordid floods the wintry Urn Hath stain’d fair Richmond’s leve… Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, No longer a poetic scene. No longer there thy raptur’d eye

Attend to Chaulieu’s wanton lyre; While, fluent as the sky-lark sing… When first the morn allures it’s w… The epicure his theme pursues: And tell me if, among the choir

Occasioned by the insults of the… Whence this unwonted transport in… Why glow my thoughts, and whither… Aspire with rapid wing? Her count… Demands her efforts: at that sacre…

I. 1. The wise and great of every clime, Through all the spacious walks of… Where’er the Muse her power displ… With joy have listen’d and obey’d.

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas… Dost thou presume? O inexpert in… Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou… With dreams of hope, these near an… Thy splendid home, thy plan of law…

If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix’d in Love’s decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, t…

With what attractive charms this g… Of nature touches the consenting h… Of mortal men; and what the pleasi… Which beauteous imitation thence d… To deck the poet’s, or the painter…

The radiant ruler of the year At length his wintry goal attains; Soon to reverse the long career, And northward bend his steady rein… Now, piercing half Potosi’s heigh…

Say, Townshend, what can London b… To pay thee for the pleasures lost… The health to-day resign’d, When spring from this her favorite… Bade winter hasten his retreat,