There on the walls the patriot's sight Blithe Concord's social form to gain; Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm : 130 135 140 ODE TO A LADY ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS, Written in May 1745. WHILE, lost to all his former mirth, And mourns the fatal day: While stain'd with blood he strives to tear Unseemly from his sea-green hair The wreaths of cheerful May: The thoughts which musing Pity pays, Your faithful hours attend; Still Fancy to herself unkind, Awakes to grief the soften'd mind, And points the bleeding friend. By rapid Scheld's descending wave 5 10 His country's vows shall bless the grave, 14 VARIATION. Ver. 4 was originally written, says T. Warton, (Reaper, No. 26,) thus: While sunk in grief he strives to tear Where'er the youth is laid: That sacred spot the village hind With every sweetest turf shall bind, Blest youth, regardful of thy doom, Aerial hands shall build thy tomb, With shadowy trophies crown'd; Whilst Honour bath'd in tears shall rove The warlike dead of every age, 20 25 VARIATIONS. Ver. 19. In Dodsley's Museum, the fourth stanza is printed thus: Ev'n now regardful of his doom With shadowy trophies crown'd: Whilst Freedom's form beside her roves, Majestic thro' the twilight groves, And calls her heroes round. Dodsley (in his Collection of Poems) and Langhorne give it as follows: O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve, Aerial forms shall sit at eve, And bend the pensive head; And, fallen to save his injur'd land, Imperial Honour's aweful hand Shall point his lonely bed. Shall leave their sainted rest; ! And, half-reclining on his spear, Each wondering chief by turns appear, Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, And gaze with fix'd delight; Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, But lo, where, sunk in deep despair, Impatient Freedom lies! 30 35 Her matted tresses madly spread, 40 To every sod, which wraps the dead, Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground Till notes of triumph bursting round Proclaim her reign restor❜d: Till William seek the sad retreat, And, bleeding at her sacred feet, Present the sated sword. 45 VARIATION. Ver. 31. T. Warton (Reaper, No. 26,) says the original ma nuscript had, Old Edward's sons, untaught to yield, If, weak to soothe so soft an heart, If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye, Expos'd and pale thou see'st him lie, Where'er from time thou court'st relief, Even humble Harting's cottag'd vale. And bid her shepherds weep. VARIATION. Ver. 49. Originally written, according to T. Warton, (Reaper, No. 26,) thus: If, drawn by all a lover's art, |