None but a poet can translate a poet

There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods, And weeping yews o'ershade the lettered stones, While midnight silence wraps these dark abodes, And soothes me wand'ring o'er my kindred bones, Let kindled fancy view the glorious morn, When from …

Dull as a twice-told tale.

My father joy'd to show the pleasant road, That leads thro' nature, up to nature's God. While others teach their sons the love of gold, He to my opening judgment would unfold The classic page.—My mother would inspire And fan the sallies of …

The best of parents blest my younger days; What others teach with frowns, they taught with praise.

Knowledge or wealth to few are given, But mark how just the ways of Heaven: True joy to all is free. Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon: 'Tis thine, O conscience, thine alone, It all belongs to thee.

When nature's happiest touch could add no more, Heaven lent an angel's beauty to her face.