A SONG,

SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED

TO BE DEAD.

BY MR. WILLIAM 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,
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No withered witch shall here be seen,

Nor goblins lead their nightly crew:
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew

The redbreast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell;
Or midst the chase on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed;
Beloved till life could charm no more,

And mourned till pity's self be dead.

כיתי