(1793)
A little black thing among the sno… Crying “weep! 'weep!” in notes of… “Where are thy father and mother?… “They are both gone up to the chur… Because I was happy upon the heat…
THERE’S Doctor Clash, And Signor Falalasole, O they sweep in the cash Into their purse hole! Fa me la sol, La me fa sol!
“Love seeketh not itself to please… Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's des… So sung a little Clod of Clay
Prepare, prepare the iron helm of… Bring forth the lots, cast in the… Th’ Angel of Fate turns them with… And casts them out upon the darken… Prepare, prepare!
Youth of delight! come hither And see the opening morn, Image of Truth new-born. Doubt is fled, and clouds of reaso… Dark disputes and artful teazing.
In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. Prudence is...
I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen: A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green… And the gates of this Chapel were…
Awake, awake, my little boy! Thou wast thy mother’s only joy; Why dost thou weep in thy gentle s… Awake! thy father does thee keep. `O, what land is the Land of Drea…
[PLATE 3] The Guardian Prince of Albion bu… Sullen fires across the Atlantic… Piercing the souls of warlike men,… Washington, Franklin, Paine & Wa…
‘Twas on a Holy Thursday, their i… The children walking two and two,… Grey headed beadles walk’d before,… Till into the high dome of Paul’s… Oh what a multitude they seem’d, t…
I walked abroad in a snowy day; I asked the soft snow with me to p… She played and she melted in all h… And the winter called it a dreadfu…
O FOR a voice like thunder, and… To drown the throat of war! When… Are shaken, and the soul is driven… Who can stand? When the souls of… Fight in the troubled air that rag…
O, I say, you Joe, Throw us the ball! I’ve a good mind to go And leave you all. I never saw such a bowler
The modest Rose puts forth a thor… The humble sheep a threat’ning hor… While the Lily white shall in lov… Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her…
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,