O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
The art of poetry is to touch the passions, and its duty to lead them on the side of virtue.
The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
Forced from home, and all its pleasures, afric coast I left forlorn; to increase a stranger's treasures, o the raging billows borne. Men from England bought and sold me, paid my price in paltry gold; but, though theirs they have enroll'd me, minds are never to be sold.
Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: To carry nature lengths unknown before, To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.