‘WHERE shall we go for our garlands glad
At the falling of the year,
When the burnt-up banks are yellow and sad,

The ocean heaves around us still
With long and measured swell,
The autumn gales our canvas fill,

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade

I

Ay, it is fitting on this holiday,

In that fair capital where Pleasure, crowned
Amidst her myriad courtiers, riots and rules,
I too have been a suitor. Radiant eyes

First, London, for its myriads; for its height,
Manhattan heaped in towering stalagmite;
But Paris for the smoothness of the paths

There is a power whose inspiration fills
Nature's fair fabric, sun- and star-inwrought,
Like airy dew ere any drop distils,

I know a village in a far-off land
Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain
With tinted walls a space on either hand

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:
QUEM IMMORTALEM
TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, COELUM:

Descend, ye Nine! descend and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,

IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS. SPENSER.

In every town, where Thamis rolls his tyde,

IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. COWLEY

Fain would my Muse the flowery treasures sing,