ON THE

DEATH OF MR. THOMSON.

The scene of the following stanzas is supposed to 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 harp1 shall now be laid;
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
May love through life the soothing shade.

Then maids and youths shall linger here;
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore,
When Thames in summer wreaths is dress'd;
And oft suspend the dashing oar,

To bid his gentle spirit rest!

And oft as ease and health retire
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening spire,2
And mid the varied landscape weep.

1 The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence.

2 Richmond church, in which Thomson was buried.

But thou who own'st that earthly bed,
Ah, what will every dirge avail?
Or tears which Love and Pity shed,

That mourn beneath the gliding sail?

Yet lives there one whose heedless eye
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near?
With him, sweet bard! may Fancy die,
And Joy desert the blooming year!

But thou lorn stream, whose sullen tide
No sedge-crown'd Sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's side
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

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!

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!'

DIRGE IN CYMBELINE.

SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.

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!

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the 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;
Beloved till life can charm no more,
And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.

VERSES

WRITTEN ON A PAPER WHICH CONTAINED A PIECE OF BRIDE-CAKE.

YE curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes,
By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake;
With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize,
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: Fears, sighs, and wishes of the enamour'd breast, And pains that please, are mix'd in every part.

With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought

From Paphian hills, and fair Cythera's isle; And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought, The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile;

Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent;
Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth;
Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent,
And meeting ardours, and exulting youth.

Sleep, wayward god! hath sworn, while these re

main,

With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear; And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain, With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear.

If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, And fond of soul, thou hopest an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide,

O, much entreated, leave this fatal place!

Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plaintive day,

Consents at length to bring me short delight: Thy careless steps may scare her doves away, And Grief with raven note usurp the night.