« AnteriorContinuar »
IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR
GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., LEICESTERSHIRE.
The embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
hands. One wooed the silent Art with studious pains: 5 These groves have heard the Other's pensive
strains; Devoted thus, their spirits did unite By interchange of knowledge and delight. May Nature's kindliest powers sustain the Tree, And Love protect it from all injury ! And when its potent branches, wide out
thrown, Darken the brow of this memorial Stone, Here may some Painter sit in future days, Some future Poet meditate his lays; Not mindless of that distant age renowned When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground, The haunt of him who sang how spear and
shield In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field; And of that famous Youth, full soon removed
From earth, perhaps by Shakespeare's self
approved, Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.
IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME.
OFT is the medal faithful to its trust
strove To aid the work, what time these walks and
bowers Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely hours.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAU
MONT, BART., AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED AVENUE, IN TIIE SAME GROUNDS.
YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed
Urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's
And be not slow a stately growth to rear
That may recall to mind that awful Pile
dead In the last sanctity of fame is laid. - There, though by right the excelling Painter
sleep Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, Yet not the less his Spirit would hold dear Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private
Hence on my patrimonial grounds, have I
FOR A SEAT IN THE GROVES OF COLEORTON.
BENEATH yon eastern ridge, the craggy bound, Rugged and high, of Charnwood's forest
ground, Stand yet, but, Stranger! hidden from thy
view, The ivied Ruins of forlorn GRACE DIEU; Erst a religious House, which day and night 5 With hymns resounded, and the chanted rite: And when those rites had ceased, the Spot gave
birth To honourable Men of various worth: There, on the margin of a streamlet wild,
Did Francis Beaumont sport, an eager child; 10 There, under shadow of the neighbouring rocks, Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their
Unconscious prelude to heroic themes,
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE WALL OF THE HOUSE (AN OUT-HOUSE), ON THE ISLAND AT GRASMERE.
RUDE is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
mitage. Thou seest a homely Pile, yet to these walls The heifer comes in the snow-storm, and here 15
The new-dropped lamb finds shelter from the
wind. And hither does one Poet sometimes row His pinnace, a small vagrant barge, up-piled With plenteous store of heath and withered
fern, (A lading which he with his sickle cuts, Among the mountains) and beneath this roof He makes his summer couch, and here at noon Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the
Sheep, Panting beneath the burthen of their wool, Lie round him, even as if they were a part 25 Of his own Household: nor, while from his
bed He looks, through the open door-place, toward
WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL ON A STONE, ON
THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN OF BLACK COMB.
STAY, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs