What God, what Genius did the Pencil move
When K NELLER painted These?
Twas Friendship — warm as Phaebus , kind as Love,
And strong as Hercules .

54 Saturday, 22 September 1750

Tu-ne etiam moreris? Ah! quid me linquis, Erasme,
Ante meus quam sit conciliatus amor?
J. C. Scaliger [Epit. in Laude Erasmi ]

Art thou too fall'n? ere anger could subside
And love return, has great Erasmus died?

Long may live my lovely Hetty!
Always young and always pretty!
Always pretty, always young,
Live my lovely Hetty long!
Always young and always pretty;
Long may live my lovely Hetty!

Give me that old-time religion,
Give me that old-time religion,
Give me that old-time religion,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for our fathers,
It was good for our fathers,
It was good for our fathers,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for our mothers,
It was good for our mothers,
It was good for our mothers,
It's good enough for me.

It was good for Paul and Silas,
It was good for Paul and Silas,
It was good for Paul and Silas,
It's good enough for me.

It makes you love ev'rybody,

I wonder whether the Girls are mad
And I wonder whether they mean to kill
And I wonder if William Bond will die
For assuredly he is very ill

He went to Church in a May morning
Attended by Fairies one two & three
But the Angels of Providence drove them away
And he returnd home in Misery

He went not out to the Field nor Fold
He went not out to the Village nor Town
But he came home in a black black cloud
And took to his Bed & there lay down

And an Angel of Providence at his Feet
And an Angel of Providence at his Head

Through the deep shadows of the darkening years,
She strove with griefs, which oft were agonies, —
The traitorous Hopes transformed to haunting Fears,
The transient Raptures ending but in sighs:

Till at the last, the life-clouds cleared away,
The future bathed in promise heavenly bright,
She heard a tender voice which seemed to say,
" At evening time, behold! I give thee light! "

For love, true love, her woman's nature yearned, —
And now true Love hath crowned her longing wild,
And all without, and all within her burned

Did Helen steal my love from me?
She never had the wit.
Or was it Jane? But she's too plain,
And could not compass it.
A bad verse in the middle, then —

It might be Helen, Jane, or Kate,
It might be none of the three:
But I'm alone, for my love's gone
That should have been true to me.

Her attachment may differ from yours in degree,
Provided they are both of one kind;
But Friendship, how tender so ever it be,
Gives no accord to Love, however refined.

Love, that meets not with Love, its true nature revealing,
Grows ashamed of itself, and demurs:
If you cannot lift hers up to your state of feeling,
You must lower down your state to hers.

O'er wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces;
Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it; — so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of Education, — Patience, Love, and Hope.
Methinks, I see them group'd in seemly show,
The straiten'd arms upraised, the palms aslope,
And robes that touching as adown they flow,

On hearing a song in praise of a lady's beauty

'Tis not the lily-brow I prize,
Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes,
Enough of lilies and of roses!
A thousand-fold more dear to me
The gentle look that Love discloses, —
The look that Love alone can see!
[1820s]