Poem by James Thomson

Ode (Tell me, thou soul of her I love...)

Tell me, thou soul of her I love, 
	Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled; 
To what delightful world above, 
	Appointed for the happy dead?

Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam, 
	And sometimes share thy lover’s woe;
Where, void of thee, his chearless home 
	Can now, alas! no comfort know?

Oh! if thou hover’st round my walk, 
	While, under ev’ry well-known tree,
I to thy fancy’d shadow talk, 
	And every tear is full of thee,

Should then the weary eye of grief,
	Beside some sympathetic stream, 
In slumber find a short relief,
	Oh visit thou my soothing dream!

1. Insects In Summer
2. Lines on Marle Field
3. A Pastoral Entertainment
4. Verses Addressed to Amanda
5. To Myra

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