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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
And when its potent branches, wide out-
shield In civil conflict met on Bos worth-field; And of that famous Youth, full soon removed
From earth, perhaps by Shakespeare's self approved, 20
Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.
IN A GARDEN OP THE SAME.
Oft is the medal faithful to its trust
And all its stately trees, are passed away,
strove To aid the work, what time these walks and
Were shaped to cheer dark winter's lonely
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., AND IN HIS NAME, FOR AN URN, PLACED BY HIM AT THE TERMINATION OF A NEWLY-PLANTED AVENUE, IN THE 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 Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest
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 11 Self-hidden praise, and Friendship's private
tear: Hence on my patrimonial grounds, have I Raised this frail tribute to his memory; From youth a zealous follower of the Art 15 That he professed; attached to him in heart; Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died.
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 Diett; 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
flocks; Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams Of slighted love, and scorn, and jealous rage, 15 With which his genius shook the buskined
stage. Communities are lost, and Empires die, And things of holy use unhallowed lie; They perish;—but the Intellect can raise, From airy words alone, a Pile that ne'er
WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL UPON A STONE IN THE
Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
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, 20 Among the mountains) and beneath this roof He makes his summer couch, and here at noon Spreads out his limbs, while, jet 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
the lake And to the stirring breezes, does he want Creations lovely as the work of sleep— Fair sights, and visions of romantic joy! 30
WRITTEN WITH A SLATE PENCIL ON A STONE, ON
Stay, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs
From centre to circumference, unveiled!