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Allow'd with thee to dwell :
And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows There waste the mournful lamp of night,
with sedge, Till, Virgin, thou again delight
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier To hear a British shell !
still, William Collins.-Born 1720, Died 1756.
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells, 888.-ODE.
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.
Or, if chill blnstering winds, or driving rain, How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, By all their country's wishes blest!
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods, She there shall dress a sweeter sod
And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
spires; By fairy hands their knell is rung;
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er
all By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
Thy dewy fingers draw To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
The gradual dusky veil. And Freedom shall awhile repair,
While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he To dwell a weeping hermit there!
wont, William Collins:--Born 1720, Died 1756. And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with 889.-ODE TO EVENING.
leaves; If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest
Affrights thy shrinking train, ear,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd Peace, Sun
Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name!
William Collins.-Born 1720, Died 1756. Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed
890.-TO THE PASSIONS.
When Music, heavenly maid, was young, As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting,
By turns they felt the glowing mind darkening vale,
Disturb’d, delighted, raised, refined ;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruled the hour
Would prove his own expressive power.
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd ; his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures wan Despair
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; A solemn, strange, and mingled air,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance
hail ! Still would her touch the strain prolong ;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She callid on Echo still, through all the song ;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every
close, And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her
golden hair. And longer had she sung ;-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose :
And, ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum, with furious heat; And though sometimes, each dreary pause
between, Dejected Pity, at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild uvalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd
bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ;
Sad proof of thy distressful state ; Of differing themes the veering song was
mix'd; And now it courted Love, now raving call'd
on Hate. With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired, And, from her wild sequester'd seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive
soul : And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled
Love of Peace, and lonely musing,
But O! how alter'a was its sprightlier
tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest
hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket
rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad
known! The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste
Peeping from forth their alleys green:
spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest; But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the
best; They would have thought who heard the
strain They saw, in Tempé's vale, her native
maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the
strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic
round : Loose were her tresses seen, her zone un.
bound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy
O Music ! sphere-descended maid,
William Collins.--Born 1720, Died 1756.
891.-DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. 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!
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
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.
Willian Collins.-Born 1720, Died 1756.
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye
And joy desert the blooming year.
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
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 ; 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 : “Oh! vales and wild woods," shall he say, “In yonder grave your Druid lies!”
William Collins.-Born 1720, Died 1756.
892.-ODE ON THE DEATH OF
THOMSON. In yonder grave a Druid lies,
Where slowly winds the stealing wave;
To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
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, Shall sadly seem in Pity's eår
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 the gentle spirit rest!
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
And ʼmid the varied landscape weep.
Ah ! what will every dirge avail ; Or, tears, which Love and Pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail ?
893.—THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS. Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, To think how modest Worth - neglected
lies While partial Fame doth with her blasts
adorn Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp dis
guise; Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise : Lend me thy clarion, goddess ! let me try To sound the praise of Merit, ere it dies,
Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, Lost in the dreary shades of dull Obscurity.
In every village mark'd with little spire, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to
Fame, There dwells in lowly shed, and mean
attire, A matron old, whom we School-mistress
name; Who boasts unruly brats with birch to
tame; They grieven sore, in piteous durance
pent, Awed by the power of this relentless dame;
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely
shent. And all in sight doth rise a bírchen tree, Which Learning near her little dome did
stowe; Whilom a twig of small regard to see, Though now so wide its waving branches
And work the simple vassals mickle woe ; A russet stole was o'er her shoulders
A rnsset kirtle fenced the nipping air ; But their limbs shudder'd and their pulse 'Twas simple russet, but it was her own; beat low;
'Twas her own country bred the flock so And as they look'd they found their horrour fair! grew,
'Twas her labour did the fleece And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the prepare ; view.
And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged
around, So have I seen (who has not, may conceive)
Through pious awe, did term it passing A lifeless phantom near a gurden placed ;
rare; So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,
For they in gaping wonderment abound, Of sport, of song, of pleasure, of repast;
And think, no doubt, she been the greatest They start, they stare, they wheel, they
wight on ground. look aghast; Sad servitude ! such comfortless annoy
Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste!
Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Ne superstition clog his dance of joy,
Goody, good-woman, gossip, n'aunt forNe vision empty, vain, his native bliss destroy.
sooth, Near to this dome is found a patch so
Or dame, the sole additions she did hear ;
Yet these she challenged, these she held green, On which the tribe their gambols do dis
right dear :
Ne would esteem him act as mought play; And at the door imprisoning-board is seen,
Who should not honour'd eld with these Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray;
revere : Eager, perdie, to bask in gunny day!
For never title yet so mean could prove,
But there was eke a mind which did that The noises intermixed, which thence re
title love. sound, Do Learning's little tenement betray ; Where sits the dame, disguised in look
One ancient hen she took delight to feed, profound,
The plodding pattern of the busy dame; And eyes her fairy throng, and turns her
Which, ever and anon, impell’a by need, wheel around.
Into her school, begirt with chickens, camo!
Such favour did her past deportment
pound, Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear What sin it were to waste the smallest crumb entwined,
she found. With dark distrust, and sad repentance fill’d; And stedfast hate, and sharp affliction Herbs too she knew, and well of each could join'd,
speak And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement That in her garden sipp'a the silvery dew; unkind.
Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy
streak; Few but have ken'd, in semblance meet But herbs for use, and physic, not a few, pourtray'a,
Of grey renown, within those borders grew :
The tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme,
The lowly gill, that never dares to climb;
to rhyme. Were the stern god to give his slaves the rein ?
Yet euphrasy may not be left unsung, And were not she rebellious breasts to That gives dim eyes to wander leagues quell,
around; And were not she her statutes to maintain, And pungent radish, biting infants' tongue; The cot no more, I ween, were deem’d the And plantain ribb’d, that heals the reaper's cell,
wound; Where comely peace of mind, and decent order And marjoram sweet, in shepherd's posie
And lavender, whose spikes of azure bloom Shall be, ere-while, in arid bundles bound,
To lurk amidst the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean, with mickle
And here trim rosemarine, that whilom
crown'a The daintiest garden of the proudest peer; Ere, driven from its envied site, it found A sacred shelter for its branches here; Where edged with gold its glittering skirts
appear, Oh wassel days! O customs meet and
well! Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere :
Simplicity then sought this humble cell, Nor ever would she more with thane and
Right well she knew each temper to
descry; To thwart the proud, and the submiss to
raise ; Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, And some entice with pittance small of
praise, And other some with baleful sprig she
'frays : E'en absent, she the reins of power doth
hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd
she sways : Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks
behold, 'Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene
Lo now with state she utters the command ! Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair; Their books of stature small they take in
hand, Which with pellucid horn secured are, To save from finger wet the letters fair: The work so gay that on their back is
seen, St. George's high achievements does
declare; On which thilk wight that has y-gazing
been, Kens the forthcoming rod, unpleasing sight, I
Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent
eve, Hymned such psalms as Sternhold forth did
mete, If winter 'twere, she to her hearth did
cleave, But in her garden found a summer-seat: Sweet melody! to hear her then repeat How Israel's sons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a song entreat,
All, for the nonce, untuning every string, Uphung their useless lyres-small heart had
they to sing. For she was just, and friend to virtuous
lore, And pass'd much time in truly virtuous
deed; And in those elfins' ears, would oft deplore The times, when Truth by Popish rage did
bleed ; And tortuous death was true Devotion's
meed; And simple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her
creed ; And lawny saints in smouldering flames did
burn: Ah ! dearest Lord, forefend, thilk days should
Ah luckless he, and born beneath the
beam Of evil star! it irks me whilst I write: As erst the bard by Mulla's silver stream, Oft, as he told of deadly dolorous plight, Sigh'd as he sung, and did in tears indite. For brandishing the rod, she doth begin To loose the brogues, the stripling's late
delight! And down they drop; appears his dainty
skin, Fair as the furry-coat of whitest ermilin.
In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem By the sharp tooth of cankering eld de
faced, In which, when he receives his diadem, Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is
placed, The matron sate ; and some with rank she
graced, (The source of children's and of courtiers'
pride!) edress'd affronts, for vile affronts there R pass'd;
And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them
Oruthful scene! when from a nook
obscure, His little sister doth his peril see : All playful as she sate, she grows demure : She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee; She meditates a prayer to set him free: Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agree).
To her sad grief that swells in either eye, And wings her so that all for pity she could
dye. No longer can she now her shrieks com
mand; And hardly she forbears, through awful
fear, To rushen forth, and, with presumptuous
hand, To stay harsh Justice in its mid career.