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* Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave,
- Cold is Cadwallo's tongue,
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,
The shrieks of death through Berkeley's roofs that
ring ; Shrieks of an agonizing king! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him
wait ! Amazement in his van, with Flight combined ; And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.'
“ Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames and statesmen old, In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine ! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; Her lion-port, her awe commanding face, Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air ! What strains of vocal transport round her play! Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd
“ The verse adorn again
A voice, as of the cherub-choir,
height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless
BORN 1720-Died 1756.
ODE TO THE DEATH OF MR 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!
To deck its poet's sylvan grave.
In yon deep bed of whispering reeds
His airy harp shall now be laid ; That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,
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 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 friend shall view yon whitening spire, (a)
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 glimmering 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,
(a) Mr Thomson was buried in Richmond church.
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 veild the solemn view ! Yet once again, dear parted shade,
Meek Nature's Child, again adieu !
The genial meads (a) assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ! There 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 !”
ODE TO THE SUPERSTITIONS OF THE
HOME thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads
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.
(a) Mr Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death.