Not a bow-shot from the College

Not a drum was heard nor a funeral note

Not all that heralds wake from coffined clay
Not Avarice, the foul caitiff

Not a word spake he more than was need,
Not failure, but low aim, is crime
Not so idle as I seemed !

Now came still evening on

Now my co-mates and brothers in exile,.
Now rosy May comes in with flowers,

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Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit

Of old, when Scarron his companions invited,

O friends with whom my feet have trod-
Oft in the stilly night,

O give thanks to Him who made-

Oh! bless the Lord, my soul !

Oh! could I flow like thee, and make thy stream

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Oh! deem not they are blest alone!

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Oh! hear a pensive prisoner's prayer!

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Oh! my offence is rank, it smells to Heaven

Oh! what is man, great Maker of mankind

O Nanny! wilt thou gang with me?
Once in the flight of ages past,
One of two must still obey-.
One Prior! and is this all the fame,
One verse for sense, and one for rhyme,.
On fair Augusta's towers and trees, .
On Linden, when the sun was low,.

Oppressed with grief, oppressed with care

O praise and thank! the Lord he comes.
Orthodox, Orthodox,

Others apart, sat on a hill retired,

O thou! the nymph with placid eye,

O thou! whatever title please thine ear,

O Thou! who in the Heavens dost dwell,

Our evil deeds hurt our neighbours.

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Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires

Poor Colly, thy reasoning is none of the strongest

Poor heiresses! these doubts will bore you,

Praise to God, immortal praise,

Prayer is the soul s sincere desire,

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Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech

Sam Johnson's conversation is to the talk of other men

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Satan now is wiser than of yore

Sated with home, of wife, of children tired,

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Servant of God, well done; well hast thou fought

Shot from yon heavenly bow, at White's
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Since first I saw your face I resolved
Sleep on, and dream of heaven awhile,
Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares,
So fair, so sweet, with all so sensitive
Solon, when he wept his son's death,
Some feelings are to mortals given-
Some have meat, and cannot eat,
Some poets sing of ancient times,
Some recommend the bowling green,

Something there is more needful than expense

So soon may I follow

So sweetly she bade me adieu,

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea,

Sow in the morn thy seed,

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you,

Spring may bloom, but she we loved,

Stern Daughter of the voice of God!

Still-born Silence, thou that art!

Strange, all this difference should be-

Such goodness in your face doth shine
Such heart was in her, being then-

Sure he that made us with such large discourse
Surely now I'm out of danger!

Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,

Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright,

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen,
Sweetest love, I do not go

Sweetest Shakespear! Fancy's child,

Sweet memory, wafted by thy gentle gale,

Take, holy Earth, all that my soul holds dear!
Teach me, my God and King,

Teach us, sprite or bird,

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,

Tell me on what holy ground,

Tell me where is fancy bred,

Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit?

Thanks, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter

That it was May, methought-e, though
That which her slender waist confined

The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear-

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The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
The bird that soars on highest wing-
The blessing of her quiet life,

The bonnie bonnie bairn sits poking in the a'se
The bridegroom may forget the bride-

The damask rose, nor lily fair,

The deeds we do, the words we say,
The earth buildeth on the earth castles and towers;
Thee, bold Longinus! all the Nine inspire,
Thee, on thy mother's knees, a new-born child
The first pale blossom of the unripened year,
The harper smiled, well pleased; for ne'er-
The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece !
The lark has sung his carol in the sky,
The learned, full of inward pride,
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
The man of sense alone

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The man who hails you Tom or Jack,

The merchant, to secure his treasure,

The night cometh, when no man can work

The night has a thousand eyes,

The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick,

The perfect world by Adam trod,

The pillared arches were over their head

The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed.

The quality of Mercy is not strained

There are, in this loud stunning tide,

There are things of which I may not speak,
Therefore, since I reputed am

There is no flock, however watched and tended,
There is no luck about the house

There, once well-strapped from point to heel,.
There's something in a noble boy,
There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl
There the wicked cease from troubling,
There was an eye, whose partial glance
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good
The silver moon shall rise by day.
The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed
The spacious firmament on high,
The star that bids the shepherd fold
The strait gate would be made straiter yet
The sturdy rock, for all his strength

The truant fancy was a wanderer ever,

The twentieth year is well nigh past

The voice which I did more esteem,
The world's an Inn, and I her guest,
They sin who tell us Love can die,
Thinking is but an idle waste of thought,
Think not of it, sweet one, so,

This child, so lovely and so cherub-like, .
This little vault, this narrow room,
This wot ye, all whom it concerns, .
Those looks whose beams be joy,

Thou, first of our orators, first of our wits,
Though all things in circle incessantly roll,
Though old the thought, and oft exprest,
Thought the life of every lady
Thou knowest not what argument-
Thou that hast given so much to me

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know
Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood,
Thy smiles, thy talk, thy aimless plays,
Tired nature's sweet restorer

"Tis all from Horace, Horace, long before ye
'Tis an old maxim in the schools,

"Tis good to be merry and wise,

'Tis not her face, which love creates

'Tis not in mortals to command success,

'Tis not restraint, or liberty,

'Tis with our judgments as our watches

To a dainty new tune, which if you can't hit
To all you ladies now on land,

To be, or not to be, that is the question!

Toll for the brave! .

To-morrow I will live, the fool does say,

To-morrow, Lord, is Thine,

Too late I stayed, forgive the crime,

To thee that art the summer's nightingale,
Treason doth never prosper; what's the reason?
Triumphant laurels seemed to grow

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,

True friendship's laws are by this rule expressed,
True wit is nature to advantage dressed;

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'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

'Twas in that place of Scotland's isle

'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas muttered in Hell,
Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green

Unchanged within, to see all changed without
Underneath this sable hearse