John Trumbull

Beneath A Mountain's Brow

“Beneath a mountain’s brow, the most remote And inaccessible by Shepherds trod, In a deep cave, dug by no mortals hands An Hermit lived, a melancholy man Who was the wonder of our wand’ring

Bred in distant woods, the clown Brings all his country airs to town; The odd address, with awkward grace, That bows with half-averted face; The half-heard compliments, whose note Is swallow’d in the trembling

M'Fingal – Canto II

The Sun, who never stops to dine, Two hours had pass’d the mid-way line, And driving at his usual rate, Lash’d on his downward car of state. And now expired the short vacation, And

M'Fingal – Canto III

Now warm with ministerial ire, Fierce sallied forth our loyal ‘Squire, And on his striding steps attends His desperate clan of Tory friends. When sudden met his wrathful eye A pole ascending through the

M'Fingal – Canto I

When Yankies, skill’d in martial rule, First put the British troops to school; Instructed them in warlike trade, And new manoeuvres of parade, The true war-dance of Yankee reels, And manual exercise of heels;

M'Fingal – Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon That patroness of rogues, the Moon; Beneath whose kind protecting ray, Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey. The honest world all snored in chorus, While

To A Young Lady

In vain, fair Maid, you ask in vain, My pen should try th’ advent’rous strain, And following truth’s unalter’d law, Attempt your character to draw. I own indeed, that generous mind That weeps the

To Ladies Of A Certain Age

Ye ancient Maids, who ne’er must prove The early joys of youth and love, Whose names grim Fate (to whom ’twas given, When marriages were made in heaven) Survey’d with unrelenting scowl, And struck

The Owl And The Sparrow

In elder days, in Saturn’s prime, Ere baldness seized the head of Time, While truant Jove, in infant pride, Play’d barefoot on Olympus’ side, Each thing on earth had power to chatter, And spoke