*7 



cuts them down, robs his posterity for many gene- 

 rations, and his country of its greatest beauty, 

 boast, and bulwark. Britain had better be without 

 gold than without timber. 



Oft have I thought 'twould soothe my dying hour, 

 If aught may soothe, when life resigns her power, 

 To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell, 

 Would hide my bosom, where it lov'd to dwell; 

 With this fond dream, methinks 'twere sweet to die, 

 And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie ; 

 Here might I sleep, where all my hopes arose, 

 Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose ; 

 For ever stretch 'd beneath this mantling shade, 

 Prest by the turf where once my childhood played, 

 Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I lov'd, 

 Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps mov'd, 

 Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, 

 Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledg'd here, 

 Deplor'd by those in early days allied, 

 And unremember'd by the world beside. 



