Dr. Erasmus Darwin

Anonymous, "On the Death of Dr. Darwin" Scots Magazine 64 (May 1802) 423.

Natives of that green isle, where fancy strays
O'er richest flowers that never fading blow,
Whose skies are ever bright with cloudless days,
Whose mazy waters ever murmuring flow;

Receive your DARWIN to the hallowed shades,
The bower perennial Flora loves to rear,
Where never frozen breath of time invades,
The blushing sweetness of her virgin year.

O'er that green bower a gentle spirit flies,
And waves the torch of welcome from above;
While Vesper, kindling in her dewy skies,
Directs the wanderer to her isle of love.

Nymphs of blue heaven's electric curling flame,
On wings of light'ning round your bard repair,
Twine your wreath'd coronets of fire, to frame
The circling glories of his hoary hair.

Thou velvet earth, let thy dark spirit smile
Complacent kindness, through the gathering beam,
And reach, the stranger's sorrow to beguile,
Oblivious Lotus from her mantling stream.

Ah! vales of bliss, in what far distant main,
Where shuddering tempests never dare to blow,
Lies your retiring, jealous, coy domain,
Beyond the reach of sorrow and of woe.

You, no faint moons, with waning splendors, light,
You, no sad tears of heavy grief defile,
Your happy fields are native to delight,
And all your hours, and all your ages smile.

On your blest plains no hungry grave receives
The bitter tear, for love and friendship shed;
In you, no widow'd bosom joyless grieves;
Nor droops in vain the unsupported head.