Strong were thy thoughts, yet reason bore the sway;
Humble yet learn'd; tho' innocent yet gay:
So pure of heart, that thou might'st safely show
Thy inmost bosom to thy basest foe:
Careless of wealth, thy bliss a calm retreat,
Far from the insults of the scornful great———
O Woods! O Wilds! O ev'ry bow'ry Shade!
So often vocal by his music made,
Now other sounds—far other sounds, return,
And o'er his hearse with all your echoes mourn———
Where were ye, Muses! by what fountain side,
What river, sporting when your fav'rite dy'd?
He knew by verse to chain the headlong floods,
Silence loud winds, or charm attentive woods.BROOME.
A poet bless'd beyond the poets' fate,
Whom Heav'n kept sacred from the proud and great:
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace:
Calmly he look'd on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfy'd,
Thank'd Heav'n that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.
POPE.