William Collins

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part,
Nature in him was almost lost in art.

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part,
Nature in him was almost lost in art.

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised read more

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Filled with fury, rapt, inspir'd.

Filled with fury, rapt, inspir'd.

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gathered read more

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.