Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight; Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!

I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down.

I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

By headless Charles see heartless Henry lies.

Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.

That music in itself, whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech.