Maxioms by James Thomson (1)
The glad circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
The glad circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe,
They read more
Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe,
They sit, they loll, turn o'er some idle rhyme,
Then, rising sudden, to the glass they go,
Or saunter forth, with tottering steps and slow.
O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And read more
O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,
And heightens ease with grace.
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!
Hail! Independence, hail! Heaven's next best gift,
To that of life and an immortal soul!
