Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
WILLIAM COLLINS.
1720-1756.
Ode in 1746.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blessed!
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there.