WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT. 1786. WHILE thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs, ΤΟ Go-you may call it madness, folly; Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure You would not rob me of a treasure Monarchs are too poor to buy. TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES, COMMONLY CALLED THE TORSO. AND dost thou still, thou mass of breathing stone, What tho' the Spirits of the North, that swept * In the gardens of the Vatican, where it was placed by Julius II., it was long the favourite study of those great men to whom we owe the revival of the arts, Michael Angelo, Raphael, and the Caracci. Once in the possession of Praxiteles, if we may believe an ancient epigram on the Gnidian Venus.-Analecta Vet. Poetarum, III. 200. A WISHI. 172 MINE be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soother, The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch. Around my ivy'd porch shall spring In russet gown and apron blue. The village-church, among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze, And point with taper spire to heaven. |