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let she So he
Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove
lung Couch These Hera lage
O, more than all in powerful genius blest,
hes cach DieDE Those (For Byt Besty
Methinks e'en now I view some free design
But who t is he whose brows exalted bear
* See the Tragedy of Julius Cæsar.
Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall
Thus, generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires,
DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.
OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen;
No goblins lead their nightly crew: The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew!
Anc hall To
The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake thy sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase, on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore ;
For thee the tear be duly shed; Belov'd, till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON.
lie on the Thames, near Richmond. IN yonder grave a Druid lies,
Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise,
To deck its poet's sylvan grave!
In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
His airy harp * shall now be laid;
May love through life the soothing shade.
Then maids and youths shall linger here;
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.
Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore,
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest;:
To bid his gentle spirit rest!
And, oft as ease and health retire
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
And 'nid the varied landscape weep.
Ah! what will every dirge avail!
That mouru beneath the gliding sail !
Yet lives there one whose heedless eye
Shall scorn tly pale slırine glimmering near !
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tido
No sedge-crown'd Sisters now attend,
The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence. † Richmond Church, in which Thomson was buried.
And see, the fairy valleys fade;
Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!
Fra And TL
The genial * meads, assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; There hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb.
Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes : O! vales, and wild woods, shall he say,
In yonder grave your Druid lies!
WRITTEN ON A PAPER WHICH CONTAINED
A PIECE OF BRIDE-CAKE.
By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake,
Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake!
This precious relic, form’d by magic power,
Beneath the shepherd's haunted pillow laid, Was meant by love to charm the silent hour,
The secret present of a matchless maid.
The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request,
Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art;
* Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.