And, hugging close, we will not feare Lust entering here; Where all desires are dead or cold, As is the mould; And all affections are forgot, Or trouble not. Here needs no court for our request, Where all are best; All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i' th' dust. Nor need we here to feare the frowne Of court or crown; Where fortune bears no sway o'er things, There all are kings. And for a while lye here concealed, To be revealed, Next, at that great platonick yeere, And then meet here. HERRICK. LINES. WRITTEN AT GRASMERE, ON TIDINGS OF THE APPROACHING DEATH OF CHARLES JAMES FOX. LOUD is the Vale! the voice is up With which she speaks when storms are gone, A mighty unison of streams! Loud is the Vale; -this inland Depth Sad was I, even to pain deprest, And many thousands now are sad |