<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539257" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy IV. Ophilia's Urn. To Mr. Graves</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the dim veil of evening's dusky shade,<br>Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green,<br>What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd!<br>What shrouded spectres Superstition seen!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But you, secure, shall pour your sad complaint,<br>Nor dread the meagre phantom's wan array;<br>What none but Fear's officious hand can paint,<br>What none, but Superstition's eye, survey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The glimmering twilight and the doubtful dawn<br>Shall see your step to these sad scenes return:<br>Constant, as crystal dews impearl the lawn,<br>Shall Strephon's tear bedew Ophelia's urn.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sure nought unhallow'd shall presume to stray<br>Where sleep the relics of that virtuous maid;<br>Nor aught unlovely bend its devious way,<br>Where soft Ophelia's dear remains are laid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Haply thy Muse, as with unceasing sighs<br>She keeps late vigils, on her urn reclined,<br>May see light groups of pleasing visions rise,<br>And phantoms glide, but of celestial kind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Fame, her clarion pendent at her side,<br>Shall seek forgiveness of Ophelia's shade;<br>'Why has such worth, without distinction, died?<br>Why, like the desert's lily, bloom'd to fade?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then young Simplicity, averse to feign,<br>Shall, unmolested, breathe her softest sigh,<br>And Candour with unwonted warmth complain,<br>And Innocence indulge a wailful cry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Elegance, with coy judicious hand,<br>Shall cull fresh flowerets for Ophelia's tomb;<br>And Beauty chide the Fate's severe command,<br>That show'd the frailty of so fair a bloom!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Fancy then, with wild ungovern'd woe,<br>Shall her loved pupil's native taste explain;<br>For mournful sable all her hues forego,<br>And ask sweet solace of the Muse in vain!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! gentle Forms! expect no fond relief;<br>Too much the sacred Nine their loss deplore:<br>Well may ye grieve, nor find an end of grief-<br>Your best, your brightest favourite is no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539257" data-title="Elegy IV. Ophilia's Urn. To Mr. Graves de William Shenstone" data-description="Through the dim veil of evening's dusky shade, Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green, What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd! What shrouded spectres Superstition seen! But you, secure, shall pour your sad complaint, Nor dread the meagre..."></div> </div> </div>

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