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Poem by William Collins


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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 grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there! 



William Collins


William Collins's other poems:
  1. Ode on the Grave of Thomson
  2. Ode on the Poetical Character
  3. Ode to Mercy
  4. Ode to Pity
  5. In the Downhill of Life


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