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WILLIAM COLLINS
English lyric poet
(1721 - 1759)

Hold each strange tale devoutly true.
      - [Superstition]

O music, sphere descended maid,
  Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid.
      - [Music]

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
  For thee the tear be duly shed;
    Belov'd till life can charm no more,
      And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.
      - Dirge in Cymbeline [Mourning]

Too nicely Jonson knew the critic's part,
  Nature in him was almost lost in art.
      - Epistle to Sir Thomas Hanmer on his Edition of Shakespeare
        [Criticism]

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
  By all their country's wishes blest!
    . . . .
      By fairy hands their knell is rung,
        By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
      - Ode, written in 1746 [Bravery : Soldiers]

But thou, O hope, with eyes so fair,
  What was thy delighted measure?
    Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
      And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!
      - Ode on the Passions (l. 29) [Hope]

And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.
      - Ode on the Passions (l. 3) [Hope]

In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong.
      - Ode to Simplicity [Character]

The redbreast oft, at evening hours,
  Shall kindly lend his little aid,
    With hoary moss, and gathered flowers,
      To deck the ground where thou art laid.
      - Odes--Dirge in Cymbeline [Robins]

When music, heavenly maid, was young,
  While yet in early Greece she sung,
    The Passions oft to hear her shell,
      Throng'd around her magic cell.
      - Passions (l. 1) [Music]

In notes by distance made more sweet.
      - Passions (l. 60) [Music]

In hollow murmurs died away.
      - Passions (l. 68) [Music]

Filled with fury, rapt, inspir'd.
      - The Passions (l. 10) [Passion]

With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
  Pale melancholy sate retired;
    And, from her wild, sequester'd seat,
      In notes by distance made more sweet,
        Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul.
      - The Passions (l. 57) [Melancholy]


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