Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau! Mock on, mock on—'Tis all in vain!
Thou Fair-haired Angel of the Evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
When Sir Joshua Reynolds died All Nature was degraded;
Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles.
Cruelty has a Human Heart, And jealousy a Human Face; Terror the Human Form Divine, And secrecy the Human Dress.
O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break.
Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves and aspire, Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear.
Every thing that lives Lives not alone nor for itself.
A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.