Anna Laetitia Barbauld

(20 June 1743 – 9 March 1825 / Leicestershire, England)

Anna Laetitia Barbauld Poems

41. On The Backwardness Of The Spring 1771 9/6/2010
42. On The Death Of Mrs. Jennings 9/6/2010
43. On The Death Of Mrs. Martineau, Senr. 9/6/2010
44. On The Death Of Princess Charlotte 9/6/2010
45. On The Expected General Rising Of The French Nation, In 1792. 9/6/2010
46. On The King's Illness 9/6/2010
47. Ovid To His Wife 9/6/2010
48. Pastoral Hymn 9/6/2010
49. Peace And Shepherd 9/6/2010
50. Pious Friendship 9/6/2010
51. Praise To God 9/6/2010
52. Prologue To A Drama 9/6/2010
53. Riddle 9/6/2010
54. Riddle #2 9/6/2010
55. Songs 9/6/2010
56. The Baby-House 9/6/2010
57. The Caterpillar 9/6/2010
58. The Death Of Virtuous 9/6/2010
59. The Epiphany 9/6/2010
60. The First Fire 9/6/2010
61. The Groans Of The Tankard 9/6/2010
62. The Invitation 9/6/2010
63. The Mouse's Petition 9/6/2010
64. The Origin Of Song Writing 9/6/2010
65. The Rights Of Woman 9/6/2010
66. The Unknown God 9/6/2010
67. The Wake Of The King Of Spain 9/6/2010
68. This Solemn Day 9/6/2010
69. To A Dog 9/6/2010
70. To A Friend 9/6/2010
71. To A Lady 9/6/2010
72. To A Little Invisible Being 9/6/2010
73. To Doctor Priestley 9/6/2010
74. To Dr. A. 9/6/2010
75. To Love And Time 9/6/2010
76. To Miss F. B.: On Her Asking For Mrs. B's Love And Time 9/6/2010
77. To Miss R.: On Her Attendance On Her Mother At Buxton 9/6/2010
78. To Miss T. 9/6/2010
79. To Mr. Barbauld 9/6/2010
80. To Mr. Bowring 9/6/2010
Best Poem of Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Eighteen Hundred And Eleven

Still the loud death drum, thundering from afar,
O'er the vext nations pours the storm of war:
To the stern call still Britain bends her ear,
Feeds the fierce strife, the' alternate hope and fear;
Bravely, though vainly, dares to strive with Fate,
And seeks by turns to prop each sinking state.
Colossal power with overwhelming force
Bears down each fort of Freedom in its course;
Prostrate she lies beneath the Despot's sway,
While the hushed nations curse him—and obey.

Bounteous in vain, with frantic man at strife,
Glad Nature pours the means—the joys of ...

Read the full of Eighteen Hundred And Eleven

A School Eclogue

Edward

Hist, William! hist! what means that air so gay?
Thy looks, thy dress, bespeak some holiday:
Thy hat is brushed; thy hands, with wondrous pains,
Are cleansed from garden mould and inky stains;
Thy glossy shoes confess the lacquey's care;
And recent from the comb shines thy sleek hair.
What god, what saint, this prodigy has wrought?

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