, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening[38] spire
And 'mid the varied landscape weep. 20

But thou, who own'st that earthy 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 25
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, 30
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 veil'd the solemn view!
Yet once again, dear parted shade, 35
Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!

The genial meads,[39] assign'd to bless
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom;
Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb. 40

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!

VARIATION.

Ver.
21. But thou who own'st that earthly bed,

FOOTNOTES:

[37] The harp of AEolus, of which see a description in the Castle of
Indolence. C.

[38] Richmond Church, in which Thomson was buried. C.

[39] Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time
before his death.

ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND;

CONSIDERED AS THE SUBJECT OF POETRY; INSCRIBED TO MR. JOHN HOME.

I.

Home, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long
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.[40]
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youth[41] 5
Whom, long endear'd, thou leavest by Levant's side;
Together let us wish him lasting truth,
And joy untainted with his destined bride.
Go! nor regardless, while these numbers boast
My short-lived bliss, forget my social name; 10
But think, far off, how, on the southern coast,
I met thy friendship with an equal flame!
Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale
Shall prompt the