Poem – Sound & Sense 

True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, 
As those move easiest who have learned to dance. 

‘Tis not enough no harshness gives offense, 

The sound must seem an echo to the sense: 

Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; 

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 

The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar; 

When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw, 

The line too labors, and the words move slow; 

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o’er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. 

Hear how Timotheus’ varied lays surprise, 

And bid alternate passions fall and rise! 

Poem  – Ode on Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

In his own ground.
Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire,

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

In winter fire.
Blest! who can unconcern’dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix’d; sweet recreation,

And innocence, which most does please,

With meditation.
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me dye;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

Tell where I lye. 

Poem – Chorus of Youths and Virgins


Oh Tyrant Love! hast thou possest

The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast?

Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim,

And Arts but soften us to feel thy flame.

Love, soft intruder, enters here,

But ent’ring learns to be sincere.

Marcus with blushes owns he loves, 

And Brutus tenderly reproves.

Why, Virtue, dost thou blame desire,

Which Nature has imprest?

Why, Nature, dost thou soonest fire

The mild and gen’rous breast?

Love’s purer flames the Gods approve;

The Gods and Brutus bent to love:

Brutus for absent Portia sighs,

And sterner Cassius melts at Junia’s eyes.

What is loose love? a transient gust,

Spent in a sudden storm of lust,

A vapour fed from wild desire,

A wand’ring, self-consuming fire,

But Hymen’s kinder flames unite;

And burn for ever one;

Chaste as cold Cynthia’s virgin light,

Productive as the Sun.

Oh source of ev’ry social tie,

United wish, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,

As son, as father, brother husband, friend?

Whether his hoary sire he spies,

While thousand grateful thoughts arise;

Or meets his spouse’s fonder eye;

Or views his smiling progeny;

What tender passions take their turns,

What home-felt raptures move?

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,

With rev’rence, hope, and love.

Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises,

Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,

Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises;

Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine

Purest love’s unwasting treasure,

Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,

Days of ease, and nights of pleasure;

Sacred Hymen! these are thine.