IV.

Thither while the murmuring throng Of wild-bees hum their drowsy song, By indolence and fancy brought, A youthful bard, “unknown to fame,” Woos the queen of solemn thought, And heaves the gentle mis’ry of a sigh, Gazing with tearful eye, As round our sandy grot appear Many a rudely sculptured name To pensive mem’ry dear! Weaving gay dreams of sunny-tinctured hue We glance before his view: O’er his hushed soul our soothing witch’ries shed, And twine our faery garlands round his head.