William Collins

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . read more

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . .
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung.

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part,
Nature in him was almost lost in art.

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part,
Nature in him was almost lost in art.

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised read more

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

Filled with fury, rapt, inspir'd.

Filled with fury, rapt, inspir'd.