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Select poems of Edward Hovel Thurlow

Lord Thurlow
Thurlow, Edward Hovell-Thurlow (1781-1829)

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SONG. To May.
  
VERSES, IN ALL HUMILITY DEDICATED TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS The Prince Regent.
  
THE SECOND ELEGY OF The Fourth Book of Tibullus.
  
THE ROSE.
  
SONNET, ON BEHOLDING THE PORTRAITURE OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, IN THE GALLERY AT PENSHURST.
  
SONNET, ON THE DIVINE AND NEVER ENDING MEMORY OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY .
  
SONNET.
  
SONG. To the Rose.
  
SONNET. To Phœbus.
  
A SONG, IN APRIL.
  
A SONG, To the River Avon.
 1. 
A SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.
 2. 
A SECOND SONG OF THE SEA-FAIRIES.
  
A SONG.
  
TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS:
  
AN EPIGRAM OF ANTIPATER OF SIDON
  
FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET, ON THE EXCELLENT POET, SHAKSPEARE.
  
SONNET, ON THE SAME.
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET.
  
THE PRAISE OF PINDAR, AND THEN OF AUGUSTUS CÆSAR
  
THE SUN-FLOWER.
  
SONNET.
  
EPIGRAM; FROM THE GREEK: In the Seventh Book of the Anthologia.
  
TO THE EARL OF ASHBURNHAM .
  
TO THE EARL SPENCER,
  
TO THE MARQUESS OF HASTINGS,
  
TO THE FOUNTAIN BANDUSIA.
  
TO A BELOVED FRIEND.
  
ON BEHOLDING BODIAM CASTLE,
  
TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.
  
SONNET, ON READING THE INDUCTION TO THE MIRROR OF MAGISTRATES, WHEREIN THE POET, LED BY SORROW, DESCENDS TO HELL.
  
SONNET, WHEN TRAVELLING, IN THE EVENING.
  
ON THE SAME EVENING, PASSING NEAR HASTINGS.
  
ON THE SAME EVENING.
  
SONNET.
  
THE DIALOGUE OF HORACE AND LYDIA.
  
SONG, IN ANGELICA.
  
LINES, COMPOSED, WHEN TRAVELLING FROM THE SEA-SIDE.
  
TO THE RIVER THAMES.
  
THE RITES, Had at the Burning of Arcita, of Thebes.
  
SONNET, WRITTEN ON THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER.
  
IN AUTUMN.
  
IN AUTUMN.
  
ON THE POEM OF MR. ROGERS, ENTITLED “AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.”
  
SONNET.
  
SONNET, IN SPRING.
  
TO VIRGIL.
  
SONNET, TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LACKEN, IN THE WINTER.
  
SONG.
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THE ODES OF ANACREON, OF TEOS;

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36

SONNET.

[This forest is to me the sweetest college]

This forest is to me the sweetest college
Of any, that the outward world can show,
Lacking professors, yet most rich in knowledge,
For vile profession is to virtue foe:
Wisdom doth here in all it's branches grow,
Preaching in stones, and from the senseless wood,
Brawls in the brooks, and, wheresoe'er we go,
The tongueless lecture still is understood:
Our hall a cave, where simple mirth rejoices,
The forest mirth, not gowned, but more free;
Our choristers the birds, whose pleasant voices
In this green chapel fill our hearts with glee:
And for our grave, since that at last must come,
Beneath a beech death finds a quiet home.
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