| Asynartete |
|
|
| Give me the lyre of harmony |
|
|
| O the days of blooming youth are gone! |
|
|
| 'Tis night,—but yet the moon is high |
|
|
| Evening |
|
|
| The Thirsty fields a robe of sadness wear |
|
|
| There is a world of mind, which few can know |
|
|
| To see a dear one close her eyes |
|
|
| Horatian |
|
|
| The Drama |
|
|