Maxioms by James Thomson (1)
Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
read more
Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er read more
Think, oh, grateful think!
How good the God of Harvest is to you;
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields,
While those unhappy partners of you kind
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole.
Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.
Cruel as death, and hungry at the grave.
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!
The swallow sweeps
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house.
The swallow sweeps
The slimy pool, to build his hanging house.
