James Thomson (1)

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.

Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.

Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty and virtue,
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
read more

Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty and virtue,
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of Nature's own creating.

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, read more

The Clouds consign their treasures to the fields;
And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.