Dirge in Cymbeline.-COLLINS. To fair Fidele's grassy 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, And melting virgins own their love. The redbreast oft at evening hour With hoary moss and gather'd flower To deck the ground where thou art laid. When howling winds and beating rain Or midst the chase, on ev'ry plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead. Ritè tuum ad tumulum, dilecta Fidelia! flores Mens redit, ad fidam fida memorque tui. Ah! quoties tua forma mihi, loca sola petenti, Obvia se comitem fert, lacrymasque ciet! Flebilis heu! dum vita placet, miserandaque semper, Donec erit terris pulsus et exul Amor. H. H. B Stanzas on Woman.-GOLDSmith. When lovely woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, From the Vicar of Wakefield. |