A barren superfluity of words

Hard was their lodging, homely was their food; For all their luxury was doing good.

I see the right, and I approve it too, Condemn the wrong, and yet the wrong pursue.

To die is landing on some silent shore Where billows never break, nor tempests roar; Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.

Harsh words, though pertinent, uncouth appear: None please the fancy, who offend the ear.

Some fell by laudanum, and some by steel, And death in ambush lay in every pill.

How pleasant came thy rushing, silver Tweed! Upon my ear when, after roaming long In southern plains, I've reach'd thy lovely bank! How bright, renowned Sark, thy little stream, Like ray of column'd light chasing a shower, Would cross my …