James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
August 27Ode on the Death of Thomson
By William Collins (17211759)
I
Where slowly winds the stealing wave:
The year’s best sweets shall duteous rise,
To deck its poet’s sylvan grave.
His airy harp shall now be laid,
That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds
May love through life the soothing shade.
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem, in Pity’s ear,
To hear the woodland pilgrim’s knell.
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar
To bid his gentle spirit rest!
To breezy lawn or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening spire,
And ’mid the varied landscape weep.
Ah, what will every dirge avail?
Or tears which Love and Pity shed,
That mourn beneath the gliding sail?
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near?
With him, sweet bard, may fancy die,
And Joy desert the blooming year.
No sedge-crowned sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill’s side
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!
Dun night has veiled the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature’s child, again adieu!
Thy life shall mourn thy early doom!
Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress
With simple hands thy rural tomb.
Shall melt the musing Briton’s eyes:
“O vales and wild woods!” shall he say,
“In yonder grave your Druid lies!”