Sleep, wayward God! hath sworn, while these remain, With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear, And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain, With fairy songs shall soothe his pensive ear. If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, 25 And fond of soul, thou hop'st an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide, O, much entreated, leave this fatal place! Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plaintive day, Consents at length to bring me short delight, 30 Thy careless steps may scare her doves away, And Grief with raven note usurp the night. TO MISS AURELIA C----R, ON HER WEEPING AT HER SISTER'S WEDDING. Cease, fair Aurelia, cease to mourn, Lament not Hannah's happy state; You may be happy in your turn, And seize the treasure you regret. With Love united Hymen stands, 5 And softly whispers to your charms, "Meet but your lover in my bands, You'll find your sister in his arms." SONNET. When Phœbe form'd a wanton smile, My soul! it reach'd not here: Strange, that thy peace, thou trembler, flies Before a rising tear! From 'midst the drops, my love is born, 5 That o'er those eyelids rove: Thus issued from a teeming wave The fabled queen of love. SONG. THE SENTIMENTS BORROWED FROM SHAKESPEARE.[62] Young Damon of the vale is dead, Ye lowly hamlets, moan; A dewy turf lies o'er his head, And at his feet a stone. His shroud, which Death's cold damps destroy, 5 Of snow-white threads was made: All mourn'd to see so sweet a boy In earth for ever laid. Pale pansies o'er his corpse were placed, Which, pluck'd before their time, 10 Bestrew'd the boy, like him to waste And wither in their prime. But will he ne'er return, whose tongue Could tune the rural lay? Ah, no! his bell of peace is rung, 15 His lips are cold as clay. They bore him out at twilight hour, The youth who loved so well: Ah, me! how many a true love shower Of kind remembrance fell! 20 Each maid was woe--but Lucy chief, Her grief o'er all was tried; Within his grave she dropp'd in grief, And o'er her loved one died. VARIATION. Ver. 2. Ye lowland hamlets, moan; FOOTNOTES: [62] It is uncertain where this poem appeared. It was inserted in the Edinburgh edition of the Poets, 1794. A manuscript copy in the collection recently belonging to Mr. Upcott, and now in the British Museum, is headed, "Written by Collins when at Winchester School. From a Manuscript." ON OUR LATE TASTE IN MUSIC.[[63]] ----Quid vocis modulamen inane juvabat Verborum sensusque vacans numerique loquacis? MILTON.