And Live Like Nature's Bastards, Not Her

Seas Wept From Our Deep Sorrows.

I Hate When Vice Can Bolt Her Arguments, And Virtue Has No Tongue To Check Her Pride.

So Sinks The Day-star In The Ocean Bed, And Yet Anon Repairs His Drooping Head, And Tricks His Beams, And With New-spangled Ore Flames In The Forehead Of The Morning Sky.

The Mountain Nymph, Sweet Liberty.

On The Tawny Sands And Shelves Trip The Pert Fairies And The Dapper Elves.