Quote #4

By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!

More from William Collins

  1. How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes bless'd!
  2. Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part; Nature in him was almost lost in Art.
  3. Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell: 'T is virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.
  4. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spr…
  5. In numbers warmly pure and sweetly strong.
  6. Each lonely scene shall thee restore; For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved till life can charm no more, And mourn'd till Pity's self be …
  7. Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small bu…
  8. For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant hours, and elves Who slept in buds the day, And …

All William Collins quotes