Nature's old felicities.
Men who can hear the Decalogue, and feel To self-reproach.
A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave!
Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure,- Sighed to think I read a book, Only read, perhaps, by me.
With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars.
Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.