Jane Austen

The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix'd emotions with the Thought arise!
Beloved friend, four years have pass'd
Since thou wert snatch'd forever from our eyes.— The day, commemorative of my

Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green,
As, on opening the box, may be seen,
Some years of a Black Ploughman’s Gauze,
To be made up directly, because…

See they come, post haste from Thanet,
Lovely couple, side by side;
They've left behind them Richard
With the Parents of the Bride!

In measured verse I'll now rehearse The charms of lovely Anna:
And, first, her mind is unconfined Like any vast savannah.
Ontario's lake may fitly speak Her fancy's ample bound:
Its circuit may, on strict survey Five hundred miles…

Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean,
A gallant commander the victim is seen.
For promptitude, vigour, success, does he
Condemn'd to receive a severe reprimand!

Ever musing I delight to tread The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed On disappointed Love.
While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush Sings sweet and Melancholy,
And the thrush Converses with the…

Oh!
Mr.
Best, you're very
And all the world shall know it;

When stretch'd on one's bed With a fierce-throbbing head,
Which precludes alike thought or repose,
How little one cares For the grandest affairs That may busy the world as it goes!
How little one feels For the waltzes and reels Of…

The day returns again, my natal day;
What mix’d emotions with the Thought arise!
Beloved friend, four years have pass’d away
Since thou wert snatch’d forever from our eyes.--…

’I’ve a pain in my head’
Said the suffering Beckford;
To her Doctor so dread.
’Oh! what shall I take for’t?’Said this Doctor so dread…

When Winchester races first took their
It is said the good people forgot their old
Not applying at all for the leave of Saint
And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint.

Happy the lab'rer in his Sunday clothes!
In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn'd hose,
And hat upon his head, to church he goes;
As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throwsA glance upon the ample cabbage

This little bag I hope will
To be not vainly made—For, if you should a needle
It will afford you aid.
And as we are about to partT'will serve another end

My dearest Frank,
I wish you
Of Mary's safety with a Boy,
Whose birth has given little