James Thomson

Robert Carruthers, Lines. Written at the Grave of Thomson, the Poet, in Richmond Church, Surrey" The Star (13 January 1818).

Bard of the Seasons! though upon thy grave,
No blushing wild flowers to the breezes wave,
Yet oft the traveller starts at morn to hear
The lark's wild carol burst upon his ear,
And melts with rapture as each note the while
Peals through the sun-ting'd melancholy aisle!

When youth's gay fancies stream'd before mine eye,
I lov'd to con thy page 'neath morning sky;
And when my dew-wet wandering feet had found
Some ruined tower or hermitage profound,
To breath thy numbers to the silent air,
And mark the soul — the harmony was there!

Even now, though blanch'd my cheek, though tempests blow,
Assuag'd by thee, the fountain-springs of woe
Cease to distress — and o'er the troubled mind
Rush the fleet days of pleasure left behind;
Saddening, yet soothing with their pensive hue
The griefs that press — the sorrows that subdue—
And, as I worship here, ideas rise
Abjuring earth and mingling with the skies—
Contrasting scattered hopes and sorrows past
With days for ever bright and joys that ever last!