ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON. N yonder grave a Druid lies, wave; The year's best sweets shall duteous rise In yon deep bed of whispering reeds Then maids and youths shall linger here, To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And oft suspend the dashing oar, And oft, as ease and health retire The friend shall view yon whitening spire, But thou, who own'st that earthy bed, That mourn beneath the gliding sail? Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide And see the fairy valleys fade; Dun night has veiled the solemn view! Thy genial meads, assigned to bless There hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb. Long, long thy stone and pointed clay 66 "O vales and wildwoods," shall he say, 66 'In yonder grave your Druid lies!" DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. O fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, No wailing ghost shall dare appear And melting virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. The redbreast oft at evening hours When howling winds and beating rain Each lonely scene shall thee restore, HASSAN; OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER. N silent horror o'er the boundless waste past: One cruse of water on his back he bore, To guard his shaded face from scorching sand. With desperate sorrow wild, the affrighted man Thrice sighed, thrice struck his breast, and thus began: "Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" "Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind, The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find! Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage, When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage? Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign; Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine ? “Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal share! Here, where no springs in murmurs break away, |