Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ODE, TO A LADY ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS [AT] FONTENOY, by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: While, lost to all his former mirth Last Line: And bid her shepherds weep. Subject(s): Death; Fontenoy, Battle Of (1745); Dead, The | ||||||||
(addressed to Miss Elizabeth Goddard of Harting in Sussex) 1. WHILE, lost to all his former Mirth, Britannia's Genius bends to Earth, And mourns the fatal Day: While stain'd with Blood he strives to tear Unseemly from his Sea-green Hair The Wreaths of chearful May: 2. The Thoughts which musing Pity pays, And fond Remembrance loves to raise, Your faithful Hours attend: Still Fancy to Herself unkind, Awakes to Grief the soften'd Mind, And points the bleeding Friend. 3. By rapid Scheld's descending Wave His Country's Vows shall bless the Grave, Where'er the Youth is laid: That sacred Spot the Village Hind With ev'ry sweetest Turf shall bind, And Peace protect the Shade. 4. Blest Youth, regardful of thy Doom, A"erial Hands shall build thy Tomb, With shadowy Trophies crown'd: Whilst Honor bath'd in Tears shall rove To sigh thy Name thro' ev'ry Grove, And call his Heros round. 5. The warlike Dead of ev'ry Age, Who fill the fair recording Page, Shall leave their sainted Rest: And, half-reclining on his Spear, Each wond'ring Chief by turns appear, To hail the blooming Guest. 6. Old Edward's Sons, unknown to yield, Shall croud from Cressy's laurell'd Field, And gaze with fix'd Delight: Again for Britain's Wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy Steel, And wish th' avenging Fight. 7. But lo where, sunk in deep Despair, Her Garments torn, her Bosom bare, Impatient Freedom lies! Her matted Tresses madly spread, To ev'ry Sod, which wraps the Dead, She turns her joyless Eyes. 8. 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. 9. If, weak to sooth so soft an Heart, These pictur'd Glories nought impart, To dry thy constant Tear: If yet, in Sorrow's distant Eye, Expos'd and pale thou see'st him lie, Wild War insulting near: 10. Where'er from Time Thou court'st Relief, The Muse shall still, with social Grief, Her gentlest Promise keep: Ev'n humble Harting's cottag'd Vale Shall learn the sad repeated Tale, And bid her Shepherds weep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) ODE ON THE POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS OF THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) |
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