How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, <br />By all their country's wishes blest! <br />When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, <br />Returns to deck their hallowed mould, <br />She there shall dress a sweeter sod <br />Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. <br />By fairy hands their knell is rung; <br />By forms unseen their dirge is sung; <br />There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, <br />To bless the turf that wraps their clay; <br />And Freedom shall awhile repair <br />To dwell a weeping hermit there!<br /><br />William Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ode-written-in-the-beginning-of-the-year-1746/
