| Sidney, thou star of beaming chivalry |
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| And do I then behold again the scene |
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| Lo! yonder barks that from the calm bay glide |
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| If I were asked what most my soul doth prize |
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| Why doth the tear, my soul, unbidden start |
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| Sleep, infant Pilgrim! Over thee one bends |
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| Divinest Poesy! without thy wings |
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| Four days, wild Ocean, on thy troubled breast |
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| Fair art thou as the morning, my young Bride! |
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| O what have I to do with lakes and seas |
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