« FöregåendeFortsätt »
THE HUMAN SEASONS
GREAT SPIRITS NOW ON EARTH ARE SOJOURNING 921
THE ARMADA .
A JACOBITE's EPITAPH
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;
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew;
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;
The tender thought on thee shall dwell;
Each lonely scene shall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed;