A Spartan, his companion slain,
Alone from battle fled;
His mother, kindling with disdain
That she had borne him, struck him dead;
...
Sweet bird, whom the winter constrains--
And seldom another it can--
To seek a retreat while he reigns
In the well-shelter’d dwellings of man,
...
Thou hast no lightnings, O thou Just!
Or I their force should know;
And, if thou strike me into dust,
My soul approves the blow.
...
At morn we placed on his funeral bier
Young Melanippus; and, at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,
...
I ransack'd for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
...
Reader! behold a monument
That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.
...
By whom was David taught
To aim the deadly blow,
When he Goliath fought,
And laid the Gittite low?
...
When darkness long has veil'd my mind,
And smiling day once more appears,
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.
...
To purify their wine some people bleed
A lamb into the barrel, and succeed;
No nostrum, planters say, is half so good
...
At threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my father never had.
...