James Thomson (poet)

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou proveCome in between and bid us part?

— James Thomson (poet)

Whoe'er amidst the sonsOf Nature's own creating.

— James Thomson (poet)

O Sophonisba! Sophonisba, O!

— James Thomson (poet)

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.'

— James Thomson (poet)

These as they change, Almighty Father! theseIs full of Thee.

— James Thomson (poet)

Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade.

— James Thomson (poet)

From seeming evil still educing good.

— James Thomson (poet)

I know no subject more elevating, more amazing, more ready to the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works of nature. Where can we meet such variety, such beauty, such magnificence?

— James Thomson (poet)

See, Winter comes to rule the varied year,Sullen and sad.

— James Thomson (poet)

Welcome, kindred glooms!Congenial horrors, hail!

— James Thomson (poet)

Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave.

— James Thomson (poet)

There studious let me sit,And hold high converse with the mighty dead.

— James Thomson (poet)

The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid.

— James Thomson (poet)

The meek-ey'd Morn appears, mother of dews.

— James Thomson (poet)

Falsely luxurious, will not man awake?

— James Thomson (poet)

But yonder comes the powerful king of day,Rejoicing in the east.

— James Thomson (poet)

Ships dim-discovered dropping from the clouds.

— James Thomson (poet)

And Mecca saddens at the long delay.

— James Thomson (poet)

For many a day, and many a dreadful night,Incessant lab'ring round the stormy cape.

— James Thomson (poet)

Sighed and looked unutterable things.

— James Thomson (poet)

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fateOf mighty monarchs.

— James Thomson (poet)

So stands the statue that enchants the world,The mingled beauties of exulting Greece.

— James Thomson (poet)

Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age.

— James Thomson (poet)

Tutor'd by thee, hence Poetry exaltsTheir highest honour, and their truest joy!

— James Thomson (poet)

Come, gentle Spring! ethereal mildness, come.

— James Thomson (poet)

The negligence of Nature wide and wild,Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.

— James Thomson (poet)

Base Envy withers at another’s joy,And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

— James Thomson (poet)

But who can paintAmid its gay creation, hues like hers?

— James Thomson (poet)

Amid the roses fierce Repentance rearsHer snaky crest.

— James Thomson (poet)

Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,To teach the young idea how to shoot.

— James Thomson (poet)

An elegant sufficiency, content,Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven!

— James Thomson (poet)

Crowned with the sickle, and the wheaten sheaf,Comes jovial on.

— James Thomson (poet)

Poor is the triumph o’er the timid hare!Retired—

— James Thomson (poet)

For lovelinessBut is when unadorned adorned the most.

— James Thomson (poet)

He saw her charming, but he saw not halfThe charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.

— James Thomson (poet)

For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh,Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn.

— James Thomson (poet)

Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls,Pours in among the stormy Hebrides.

— James Thomson (poet)

A pleasing land of drowsyhed it was,Was far, far off expell'd from this delicious nest.

— James Thomson (poet)

They who are pleased themselves must always please.

— James Thomson (poet)

The best of men have ever loved repose: Imbitter'd more from peevish day to day.

— James Thomson (poet)

He ceased; but still their trembling ears retainedThe deep vibrations of his witching song.

— James Thomson (poet)

O fair undress, best dress! it checks no vein,And heightens ease with grace.

— James Thomson (poet)

Plac'd far amid the melancholy main.

— James Thomson (poet)

Scoundrel maxim.

— James Thomson (poet)

But what most showed the vanity of lifeWas to behold the nations all on fire.

— James Thomson (poet)

A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard becomes Poured forth his unpremeditated strain.

— James Thomson (poet)

A little, round, fat, oily man of God.

— James Thomson (poet)

Their only labour was to kill the time;Or saunter forth, with tottering steps and slow.

— James Thomson (poet)

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.

— James Thomson (poet)

Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven,And exercise, of health.

— James Thomson (poet)