SUNG BY GUIDERUS AND ARVIGARUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. <br /> <br />TO fair Fidele's grassy tomb <br /> Soft maids and village hinds shall bring <br />Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, <br /> And rifle all the breathing spring. <br /> <br />No wailing ghost shall dare appear <br /> To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; <br />But shepherd lads assemble here, <br /> And melting virgins own their love. <br /> <br />No wither'd witch shall here be seen; <br /> No goblins lead their nightly crew; <br />The female fays shall haunt the green, <br /> And dress thy grave with pearly dew! <br /> <br />The redbreast oft, at evening hours, <br /> Shall kindly lend his little aid, <br />With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, <br /> To deck the ground where thou art laid. <br /> <br />When howling winds, and beating rain, <br /> In tempests shake thy sylvan cell; <br />Or 'midst the chase, on every plain, <br /> The tender thought on thee shall dwell; <br /> <br />Each lonely scene shall thee restore; <br /> For thee the tear be duly shed; <br />Belov'd till life can charm no more, <br /> And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead.<br /><br />William Taylor Collins<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-in-cymbeline/
