ODE WRITTEN IN 1746

                            How sleep the brave , who sink to rest

                            By all their country's wishes blest!

                            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 !

 

                              

                                                                      ----------          William   Collins


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