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 red-breast 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 chace 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..

ODE ON THE DEATH OF 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 whisp'ring reeds
His airy harp shall now be laid,
That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
May love thro' 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 drest,

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 Harp of EoLUS, of which see a description in the CASTLE OF

INDOLENCE.

The friend shall view yon whitening * spire,
And 'mid the varied landscape weep:

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 glimm'ring 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;

RICHMOND Church.

*Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.

Their 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!

AN ODE, ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND.

Considered as the Subject of Poetry.

SUBSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME.

HOME, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay

Mid those soft friends, whose hearts some future day

Shall melt perhaps to hear thy tragic song.
Go, not unmindful of that cordial Youth,*
Whom, long endear'd, thou leav'st by Lavant's side,
Together let us wish him lasting truth,

And joy untainted with his destin'd bride.
Go, nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-liv'd bliss, forget my social name :
But think, far off, how, on the southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame!

* A gentleman of the name of Barrow, who introduced Home to Collins.

F

Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale
Shall prompt the poet, and his song demand:
To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail;
Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand,
And paint what all believe, who own thy genial land.

There must thou take perforce thy Doric quill;
"Tis Fancy's land to which thou sett'st thy feet;
Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet,
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill.
There each trim lass, that skims the milky store,
To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots;
By night they sip it round the cottage-door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.
There, every herd, by sad experience, knows
How, wing'd with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly,
When the sick ewe her summer food forgoes,
Or, stretch'd on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie.
Such airy beings awe th' untutor'd swain:

Nor thou, tho' learn'd, his homelier thoughts neglect ;
Let thy sweet Muse the rural faith sustain;

These are the themes of simple sure effect,

That add new conquests to her boundless reign,

And fill with double force her heart-commanding strain.

Ev'n yet preserv'd, how often may'st thou hear, Where to the Pole the Boreal mountains run, Taught by the father, to his listening son,

Strange lays, whose power had charm'd a Spencer's car.