Aaron Hill

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream read more

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream of ropes,
From his gloomy cell in a vision elopes,
To caper on sunny greens and slopes,
Instead of the dance upon nothing.

She was one of those who by fortune's boon
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon
read more

She was one of those who by fortune's boon
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon
In her mouth, not a wooden ladle.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent read more

Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear,
Unite division, and draw distance near;
Their magic force each silent wish conveys,
And wafts embodied though, a thousand ways:
Could souls to bodies write, death's pow'r were mean,
For minds could then meet minds with heav'n between.