William Collins Quotes

Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.

With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sate retired, And from her wild sequestered seat,  In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured thro’ the mellow horn her pensive soul.

O thou, the friend of man assigned, With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe: When first Distress with dagger keen Broke forth to waste his destined scene, His wild unsated foe!

By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, By all their country’s wishes blest!

To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring.