Aaron Hill

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.

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
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At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

Mere verbiage,--it is not worth a carrot!
Why Socrates or Plato--where's the odds?--
Once taught a jay read more

Mere verbiage,--it is not worth a carrot!
Why Socrates or Plato--where's the odds?--
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods,
And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot!

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.