| How beautiful the scene; ten thousand stars |
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| Abelard and Eloise |
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| How sweetly and how silently the river |
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| The Muses weep around their ancient seat |
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| As erst, thou com'st, sweet harbinger of Spring |
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| Rogers, when thou art gone thy graceful page |
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| I cannot look in thy sweet face, dear maid |
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| Whene'er I linger, Thomson, near thy tomb |
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| To the Muse |
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| To a Bird |
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