
Samuel Johnson
The Natural Beauty
To Stella:
Whether Stella's eyes are
Fix'd on earth or glancing round,
If her face with pleasure glow,
Horace Book IV Ode 7
The snow dissolv'd, no more is seen;
The fields and woods, behold
are green;
The changing year renews the plain,
The City of God
TY of God, how broad and far Outspread thy walls sublime
The true thy chartered freemen are, Of every age and clime
One holy Church, one army strong, One steadfast high intent,
One working band, one harvest-song, One King Omnipotent...
Evening Ode
To Stella:
Evening now from purple
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
From Boethius De Consolatione Philosophiae Book II Metre 2
Though countless as the grains of
That roll at Eurus' loud command;
Though countless as the lamps of
That glad us with vicarious light;
London - in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal
'—-Quis
Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se
' ~ Juv
Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,
Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer Bart
Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye,
Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie;
His various worth through varied life attend,
And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end
To Mrs Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five
Stella In Mourning
When lately Stella's form
The beauties of the gay brocade,
The nymphs, who found their power decline,
Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine
Part of the Dialogue Between Hector and Andromache
She ceas'd; then godlike Hector answer'd kind - (His various plumage sporting in the wind)"That post and all the rest shall be my care;
But shall I then forsake the unfinish'd war
How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name
Translation of a Speech of Aquileio in the Adriano of Metastasio
Grown old in courts, thou art not surely
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;
Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
Summer
O Phoebus
down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,