Maxioms by James Beattie
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
How sweet the words of Truth, breath'd from the lips of Love.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
read more
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
