by William Collins

“ Tho' Taste, tho Genius bless,
To some divine Excess,
Faints the cold Work till Thou inspire the whole;
What each, what all supply,
May court, may charm our Eye,
Thou, only Thou can'st raise the meeting Soul! ”

“ Meantime the wat'ry surge shall round him rise,
Pour'd sudden forth from ev'ry swelling source.
What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs?
His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force,
And down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless, corse.
For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait,
Or wander forth to meet him on his way;
For him in vain at to-fall of the day,
His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate. ”

“ Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare;
Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!
Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage
Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest;
For not alone they touch the village breast,
But fill'd in elder time th' historic page.
There Shakespeare's self, with ev'ry garland crown'd,
[Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen] ,
In musing hour, his wayward sisters found,
And with their terrors drest the magic scene. ”

“ Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom;
Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress,
With simple hands, thy rural tomb.
Long, long thy stone and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes;
O! vales and wild woods, shall he say
In yonder grave your Druid lies!
This work was published before January 1, 1928, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. ”

“ Or in the depth of Uist's dark forest dwells:
How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
With their own visions oft astonish'd droop.
When, o'er the wat'ry strath, or quaggy moss,
They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. ”