Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
|
|
Ode to Poetry.
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
Ode to Poetry.
Nymph of fancy, wilt thou deign
To pass the day with me?
On the clover cover'd plain,
Where roams the humming bee;
Or where doth the limpid rill
Smoothly glide adown the hill,
Skirted by the daffodil
And waving willow tree.
To pass the day with me?
On the clover cover'd plain,
Where roams the humming bee;
Or where doth the limpid rill
Smoothly glide adown the hill,
Skirted by the daffodil
And waving willow tree.
Thus, remote from human eye,
Me teach thy heavenly art;
Raise from off thy harp the sigh
Which captivates the heart:
Strike the melting tone of woe;
Wake the wounded lover's glow,
Or grim ire's indignant throe;
Or hatred's poignant smart.
Me teach thy heavenly art;
Raise from off thy harp the sigh
Which captivates the heart:
Strike the melting tone of woe;
Wake the wounded lover's glow,
Or grim ire's indignant throe;
Or hatred's poignant smart.
Ever since the dawn of thought
Did dart across my mind,
Still thy magic haunt I sought,
And to thy art inclined;
Still assay'd the tuneful lay;
Drove the fleeting hours away
Through the else unpleasant day;
And thus solace did find.
Did dart across my mind,
Still thy magic haunt I sought,
And to thy art inclined;
Still assay'd the tuneful lay;
Drove the fleeting hours away
Through the else unpleasant day;
And thus solace did find.
257
Oft in Milton's deathless strains
Thy various mein I trace;
Or, with Thomson, roam the plains
And wide ethereal space:
Sweet as manna on us drop
The immortal tones of Pope;
Cheerful Campbell, child of Hope,
Eke felt thy kind embrace.
Thy various mein I trace;
Or, with Thomson, roam the plains
And wide ethereal space:
Sweet as manna on us drop
The immortal tones of Pope;
Cheerful Campbell, child of Hope,
Eke felt thy kind embrace.
Aid me, when alone I rove
Beneath the sighing wood,
Musing in the fragrant grove
Of stillest solitude;
List'ning to the heav'nly chime
Israel's bards did raise, sublime,
In the days of olden time,
In rapt ecstatic mood.
Beneath the sighing wood,
Musing in the fragrant grove
Of stillest solitude;
List'ning to the heav'nly chime
Israel's bards did raise, sublime,
In the days of olden time,
In rapt ecstatic mood.
Hark, kind goddess, to my voice
Of supplicative tone;
Thy enchanting lore's my choice,
Which I admire alone:
Tune to me the dulcet harp,
Which before was harshly sharp;
Then dull pedantry may carp,
And criticism groan.
Of supplicative tone;
Thy enchanting lore's my choice,
Which I admire alone:
Tune to me the dulcet harp,
Which before was harshly sharp;
Then dull pedantry may carp,
And criticism groan.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |