|
Asynartete
|
|
|
|
O the days of blooming youth are gone!
|
|
|
|
Give me the lyre of harmony
|
|
|
|
'Tis night,—but yet the moon is high
|
|
|
|
Evening
|
|
|
|
The Thirsty fields a robe of sadness wear
|
|
|
|
There is a world of mind, which few can know
|
|
|
|
To see a dear one close her eyes
|
|
|
|
Horatian
|
|
|
|
The Drama
|
|
|