Oliver Goldsmith

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
Where read more

What if in Scotland's wilds we viel'd our head,
Where tempests whistle round the sordid bed;
Where the rug's two-fold use we might display,
By night a blanket, and a plaid by day.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

As ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the united
voice of myriads cannot lend the read more

As ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the united
voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to
falsehood.

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes.

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes.