Bliss it was in that dawn to be alive But to be young was very heaven.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

For by superior energies; more strict affiance in each other; faith more firm in their unhallowed principles, the bad have fairly earned a victory over the weak, the vacillating, inconsistent good.

Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.

A power is passing from the earth.

Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed,-render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!

The moving accident is not my trade; To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song for thinking hearts.