A map of every country known,
With not a foot to&nb
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Germ of new life, whose powers expanding slow
For many a moon their full perfection wait,--
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I seize the pencil, or resume the pen;
No other call my willing hand requires,
131 lines, 2 comments
No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now;
Depart in peace, thy little life is safe,
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Sleep, sleep today, tormenting cares
Of earth and folly born!
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------ A manly race
Of unsubmitting spirit, wise and brave;
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YES, DELIA loves! My fondest vows are blest ;
Farewel the memory of her past disdain ;
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HEALTH to my friend, and long unbroken years,
By storms unruffled and unstain'd by tears:
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'TIS past ! The sultry tyrant of the south
Has spent his short-liv'd rage ; more grateful hours
123 lines, 1 comment
'TIS past : dear venerable shade, farewel !
Thy blameless life thy peaceful death shall tell.
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SUCH were the notes our chaster SAPPHO sung,
And every muse dropt honey on her tongue.
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SWEET daughter of a rough and stormy fire,
Hoar Winter's blooming child ; delightful Spring !
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FLOWERS to the fair : To you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring.
18 lines, 5 comments
MY aged head now stoops its honours low,
Bow'd with the load of fifty winters' snow;
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COME here fond youth, whoe'er thou be,
That boasts to love as well as me ;
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WHEN Cupid, wanton boy, was young,
His wings unfledg'd, and rude his tongue,
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O WISDOM ! if thy soft controul
Can sooth the sickness of the soul,
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HER even lines her steady temper show ;
Neat as her dress, and polish'd as her brow ;
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O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye!
O seldom found, yet ever nigh!
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OH ! born to sooth distress, and lighten care;
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair;
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OH ! hear a pensive captive's prayer,
For liberty that sighs ;
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NOW the moon-beam's trembling lustre
Silvers o'er the dewy green,
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IN vain the sprightly sun renews his course,
Climbs up th' ascending signs and leads the day,
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OF strange events I sing, and portents dire;
The wond'rous themes a reverent ear require;
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NOVEMBER, 14, 1778.
Come, clear thy studious looks awhile,
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Whither, whither, wearied dove,
Wilt thou fly to seek thy rest?
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ON THE REJECTION OF THE BILL FOR ABOLISHING THE SLAVE TRADE, 1791.
Cease, Wilberforce, to urge thy generous aim!
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Yes, injured Woman! rise, assert thy right!
Woman! too long degraded, scorned, opprest;
31 lines, 1 comment
DECEMBER 29, 1792.
Stirs not thy spirit, Priestley! as the train
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'Tis past! we breathe! assuaged at length
The flames that drank our vital strength!
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