ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI
Reading edition
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country’s wishes bless’d! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow’d mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall a while repair To dwell a weeping hermit there! W. Collins.