What more felicity can fall to creature, than to enjoy delight with liberty?
The man whom nature's self had made to mock herself, and truth to imitate.
The nightingale is sovereign of song.
Fresh spring the herald of love's mighty king.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washรจd it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven shined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.