O fair Fidele's graffy 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 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 fylvan 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:

A

IN yonder grave a Druid lies

Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets Thall duteous rise

To deck its Poet's sylvan grave!

II.

In yon deep bed of whispring reeds

His airy harp * fhall now be laid, That he, whose heart in forrow bleeds,

May love thro' life the foothing shade.

. The harp of ÆOLUS, of which tes a description in the CASTLE OF INDOLENCE,

III.

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.

IV. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is dresti, And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit reft!

V.
And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening spire,

And 'mid the varied landscape weep,

VI.
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 fail!

VII.
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.

VIII.
But thou, lorn stream, whose fullen tide

No fedge-crown'd Sisters now attend,
Now waft me from the green hill's fide

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend !

ix. 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 !

X.
* 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.