Th' Embroid'ry Of Poetic Dreams.

The Art Of Poetry Is To Touch The Passions, And Its Duty To Lead Them On The Side Of Virtue.

Though Peace Be Made, Yet It's Interest That Keep Peace.

That Good Diffused May More Abundant Grow.

Be It A Weakness, It Deserves Some Praise, We Love The Play-place Of Our Early Days; The Scene Is Touching, And The Heart Is Stone, That Feels Not At That Sight, And Feels At None.

Not A Flower But Shows Some Touch, In Freckle, Streak Or Stain, Of His Unrivall'd Pencil. He Inspires Their Balmy Odors, And Imparts Their Hues, And Bathes Their Eyes With Nectar, And Includes In Grains As Countless As The Seaside Sands, The Forms With Which He Sprinkles All The Earth Happy Who Walks With Him!