On earth arrive, with thankful awe
We own just heaven's indulgent law,
And proudly thy success behold;
We 'attend thy reverend length of days
With benediction and with praise,
And hail Thee in our public ways
Like fome great spirit fam'd in
While thus our vows prolong
Thy steps on earth, and when by us refign'd
Thou join'ft thy feniors, that heroic throng
Who refcu'd or preferv'd the rights of human kind,
O! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue
Thee, ftill her friend and benefactor, name :
O! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes,
May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize,
Make public virtue, public freedom vile;
Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim
That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame,
Which Thou haft kept intire from force and factious guile.
me, whom in their lays the fhepherds call
Actæa, daughter of the neighbouring stream,
This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine,
Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot,
Were plac'd by Glycon. He with cowflips pale,
Primrose, and purple Lychnis, deck'd the green
Before my threshold, and my fhelving walls
With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon,
Lull'd by the murmur of my rifing fount,
I flumber here my clustering fruits I tend;
Or from the humid flowers, at break of day,
Fresh garlands weave, and chace from all my bounds.
Each thing impure or noxious. Enter-in,
O ftranger, undismay'd. Nor bat nor toad
Here lurks: and if thy breast of blameless thoughts
Approve thee, not unwelcome fhalt thou tread
My quiet manfion: chiefly, if thy name
Wife Pallas and the immortal Mufes own.
For a Statue of CHAUCER at WOODSTOCK.
UCH was old Chaucer. fuch the placid mien
Of him who firft with harmony inform'd
The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt
For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls
Have often heard him, while his legends blithe
He fang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles
Of homely life: through each estate and age,
The fashions and the follies of the world
With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance
From Blenheim's towers, O ftranger, thou art come
Glowing with Churchill's trophies; yet in vain
Doft thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold
To him, this other heroe; who, in times
Dark and untaught, began with charming verfe
To tame the rudeness of his native land.
"HOE'ER thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove
Of branching oaks a rural palace old
Imbofoms; there dwells Albert, generous lord
Of all the harvest round; and onward thence
A low plain chapel fronts the morning light
Faft by a filent riv'let. Humbly walk,
O ftranger, o'er the confecrated ground;
And on that verdant hilloc, which thou fee'st
Befet with ofiers, let thy pious hand
Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew
Sweet-fmelling flowers: for there doth Edmund reft,
The learned fhepherd; for each rural art
Fam'd, and for fongs harmonious, and the woes
Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride
Of fair Matilda fank him to the grave
In manhood's prime. But foon did righteous heaven
With tears, with fharp remorfe, and pining care,
Avenge her falfhood: nor could all the gold
And nuptial pomp, which lur'd her plighted faith
From Edmund to a loftier husband's home,
Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside
The strokes of death. Go, traveller; relate
The mournful story: haply fome fair maid
May hold it in remembrance, and be taught
That riches cannot pay for truth and love,
YOUTHS and virgins: O declining eld: O pale misfortune's flaves: O ye who dwell Unknown with humble quiet; ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden feat of kings: O fons of sport and pleasure : O thou wretch' That weep'ft for jealous love, or the fore wounds Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand Which left thee void of hope: O ye who roam In exile; ye who through the embattled field Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms Contend, the leaders of a public caufe : Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue Told you the fashion of your own estate,
The fecrets of your bofom? Here then, round His monument with reverence while ye ftand, Say to each other: "This was Shakspeare's form; "Who walk'd in every path of human life, "Felt every paffion; and to all mankind "Doth now, will ever that experience yield "Which his own genius only could acquire."
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