estrew'd the boy, like him to waste
And wither in their prime.

But will he ne'er return, whose tongue
Could tune the rural lay?
Ah, no! his bell of peace is rung, 15
His lips are cold as clay.

They bore him out at twilight hour,
The youth who loved so well:
Ah, me! how many a true love shower
Of kind remembrance fell! 20

Each maid was woe--but Lucy chief,
Her grief o'er all was tried;
Within his grave she dropp'd in grief,
And o'er her loved one died.

VARIATION.

Ver.
2. Ye lowland hamlets, moan;

FOOTNOTES:

[62] It is uncertain where this poem appeared. It was inserted in the
Edinburgh edition of the Poets, 1794. A manuscript copy in the
collection recently belonging to Mr. Upcott, and now in the
British Museum, is headed, "Written by Collins when at Winchester
School. From a Manuscript."

ON OUR LATE TASTE IN MUSIC.[[63]]

----Quid vocis modulamen inane juvabat
Verborum sensusque vacans numerique loquacis?
MILTON.

Britons! away with the degenerate pack!
Waft, western winds! the foreign spoilers back!
Enough has been in wild amusements spent,
Let British verse and harmony content!
No music once could charm you like your own, 5
Then tuneful Robinson,[64] and Tofts were known;
Then Purcell touched the strings, while numbers hung
Attentive to the sounds--and blest the song!
E'en gentle Weldon taught us manly notes,
Beyond the enervate thrills of Roman throats! 10
Notes, foreign luxury could ne'er inspire,
That animate the soul, and swell the lyre!
That mend, and not emasculate our hearts,
And teach the love of freedom and of arts.
Nor yet, while guardian Phoebus gilds our isle, 15
Does heaven averse await the muses' toil;
Cherish but once our worth of native race,
The sister-arts shall soon display their face!
Even half discouraged through the gloom they strive,
Smile at neglect, and o'er oblivion live. 20
See Handel, careless of a foreign fame,
Fix on our shore, and boast a Briton's name:
While, placed marmoric in the vocal grove,[65]
He guides the measures listening throngs approve.
Mark silence at the voice of Arne confess'd, 25
Soft