Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade

And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversly fram'd, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

And this reft house is that the which he built, Lamented Jack!

O! I do love thee, meek Simplicity!

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.

Poor little foal of an oppressèd race! I love the languid patience of thy face.