Christopher Pitt

So from a brazen vase the trembling stream Reflects the lunar or the solar beam: Swift and elusive of the dazzled eyes, From wall to wall the dancing glory flies: Thence to the ceiling shoot the glancing rays, And o'er the roof the …

Poor pitied youth! ... Bring fragrant flowers, the whitest lilies bring, With all the purple beauties of the spring; These gifts at least, these honours I'll bestow On the dear youth, to please his shade below.

Be this your nobler praise in times to come, These your imperial arts, ye sons of Rome! O'er distant realms to stretch your awful sway, To bid those nations tremble and obey; To crush the proud, the suppliant foe to rear, To give mankind a …

Ye subterranean gods! whose awful sway The gliding ghosts and silent shades obey: O Chaos, hear! and Phlegethon profound! Whose solemn empire stretches wide around! Give me, ye great tremendous powers! to tell Of scenes and wonders in the …

A mighty tree, that bears a golden bough.

Smooth lies the road to Pluto's gloomy shade, And hell's black gates for ever stand displayed, But 'tis a long unconquerable pain, To climb to these ethereal realms again.

The shrill echoes ring amidst the skies.

I proved unfaithful to my former spouse, And now I reap the fruits of broken vows!

But oh! may Earth her dreadful gulf display, And gaping snatch me from the golden day; May I be hurled, by Heaven's almighty fire, Transfixed with thunder, and involved in fire, Down to the shades of Hell, from realms of light, The deep, …

Now on a towering arch of waves we rise, Heaved on the bounding billows, to the skies. Then, as the roaring surge retreating fell, We shoot down headlong to the depths of hell.

Thrice round her neck my eager arms I threw; Thrice from my empty arms the phantom flew, Swift as the wind, with momentary flight, Swift as a fleeting vision of the night.

Arms! arms! my friends, with speed my arms supply, 'Tis our last hour, and summons us to die; My arms!—in vain you hold me,—let me go— Give, give me back this moment to the foe. 'Tis well—we will not tamely perish all, But die revenged, …

Ah, mighty Queen! you urge me to disclose, And feel, once more, unutterable woes.

As when sedition fires the ignoble crowd, And the wild rabble storms and thirsts for blood; Of stones and brands a mingled tempest flies, With all the sudden arms that rage supplies: If some grave sire appears, amid the strife, In morals …

To all, proportioned terms he must dispense, And make the sound a picture of the sense.

Nor would I scruple, with a due regard, To read sometimes a rude unpolished bard, Among whose labours I may find a line Which from unsightly rust I may refine, And, with a better grace, adopt it into mine.

Be sure from nature never to depart; To copy nature is the task of art. The noblest poets own her sovereign sway, And ever follow where she leads the way.