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Nugae Modernae

Morning thoughts, and midnight musings: consisting of casual reflections, egotisms, &c. In prose and verse. By Thomas Park

Park, Thomas (1759-1834)

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EPITAPH FOR A BABE.

CONTENTMENT VINDICATED, AND SPLEEN REPELLED.

AN APOLOGY FOR MY GARDEN .

ON QUITTING A COTTAGE RESIDENCE.

THE FILBERD-TREE.

TO E. W. AUTHOR OF “THE VILLAGE SUNDAY:”

TO MARIA-HESTER.

THE BROAD AND NARROW WAY CONTRASTED.

A MIDNIGHT MUSING.

WRITTEN IN MY “COMPANION TO THE ALTAR.”

TO THE AUTHOR OF “THE SABBATH,” AND OTHER CONTEMPLATIVE POEMS.

WRITTEN ON THE PIER-HEAD AT DOVER, AFTER A VISIT TO DENTON-COURT, THE SEAT OF SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, BART.

ON READING THE POEMS OF HURDIS, AFTER A PERUSAL OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S ACADEMIC DISCOURSE ON GAINSBOROUGH.

LINES WRITTEN WHILE THE SUBJECT OF THEM WAS TAKING AN AFTERNOON NAP IN HER ELBOW-CHAIR.

SOMNIUM JUCUNDISSIMUM.

A WALKING RUMINATION.

TO THE POET LAUREATE, AFTER READING HIS EPIC ENTITLED “MADOC.”

TO THE REV. HAY DRUMMOND,

INSCRIPTION FOR AN IVY BOWER.

TO EDWARD, LORD THURLOW,

TO MARIA-HESTER.

ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF BISHOP THOMAS, WHILE AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS, IN KENT.

OCCASIONED BY THE POEMS OF DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN, First printed in 1616.

TO C.-C. P. WITH BISHOP WILSON'S “SACRA PRIVATA.”

TRUE NEPENTHE.

[Such feeling prompts a passing culogy]

ON PUTTING A FAMILY RING UPON MY FINGER, WITH THE MOTTO “MEMENTO MORI.”

OBLOQUY INVITABLE.

SPIRITUAL ASPIRATION.

TO MR. MESSER, ON THE LOSS OF HIS SON ISAAC.

A MIDNIGHT MUSING.

TO MISS P. ON HER REMOVAL FROM HAMPSTEAD.

TO MISS D. ON RETURNING SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES, WHICH EXPRESSED A WISH THAT THE OBJECT OF HER CHOICE MIGHT BE HEAVEN-CHOSEN.

TO MR. B. WHEN HIS WIFE WAS INCAPABLE OF TAKING NOURISHMENT AFTER HAVING RECEIVED THE LORD'S SUPPER.

THE DEATH-SONG OF A CHRISTIAN.

TO A PIOUS YOUNG FRIEND.

ALLODIUM SEPULCHRALE: OR, THE POET'S LANDED PROPERTY.

GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO.

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TRUE NEPENTHE.

Some talk of amulets and charms
For real ills or fancied harms,—
But I prize one of sovereign power,
Which, or at morn or evening hour
Or in the dunnest depth of night,
Can put all feverish fear to flight:
'Tis a small voice, too seldom heard,
'Tis God's own voice, 'tis Christ's own word,
Which shields the spirit from dismay,
Though earth, though heaven itself, do pass away.