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COMPOSED UPON THE THAMES NEAR RICHMOND
LIDE gently, thus for ever glide,
O Thames! that other bards may
As lovely visions by thy side
As now, fair river! come to me.
Oh glide, fair stream! for ever so,
As thy deep waters now are flowing.
Vain thought!-Yet be as now thou art,
That in thy waters may be seen
The image of a poet's heart,
How bright, how solemn, how serene !
Such as did once the Poet bless,
Who murmuring here a later * ditty,
But in the milder grief of pity.
*Collins's Ode on the death of Thomson, the last written, I believe, of the poems which were published during his lifetime. This Ode is also alluded to in the next stanza.
Now let us, as we float along,
LEFT UPON A SEAT IN A YEW-TREE WHICH STANDS NEAR THE LAKE OF ESTHWAITE, ON A DESOLATE PART OF THE SHORE COMMANDING A BEAUTIFUL PROSPECT
What if the bee love not these barren boughs?
Who he was
That piled these stones and with the mossy sod
With its dark arms to form a circling bower,
I well remember.
No common soul.
In youth by science nursed,
And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth
Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint
And with the food of pride sustained his soul
Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour
An emblem of his own unfruitful life:
Would he forget those Beings to whose minds
The world, and human life, appeared a scene
Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh,
What he must never feel: and so, lost Man!
On visionary views would fancy feed,
Till his eye streamed with tears. In this deep vale
He died, this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms
Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him