62 raSTORY OF BISHOP AUCKLAND. Upon my left, the B&idok with arched pomp Joins the divided knds, and proudly rears Its battlements above the streams of Wsab ; On whose rich banks, deserted Newton-Cap Mourns for the absent Abts and Sciencbs, Which by her Lobd deceased were there retain'd. • ••••• On Roman ground stands Bikchbstbb aloft, And decorates the centre eminence ; Whilst all beneath, the far extended vale, Where Wbab meandering shows his silver stream, With rich enclosures deck'd in prospect gay, Mingles whatever can rural beauty fonn. There Jest and Joutt and jocund Mibth Have often laughed the happy hours away, With Ween's own genius, HosprrALmr. Now would my muse a thousand beauties paint, A thousand noble views which strike the eye, Where wood and water blended, form a scene Of excellence : — but O ! my weaker hand The arduous task refuses ; ruder lines And slighter draughts alone, its pencil gives ; Whilst the full glowing scene, the finished piece, Where all is just, all perfect, all complete, It leaves to abler artists, skilled alone, To copy nature in an humble way. But whilst in these enchanting walks I tread, Shall I the name of Tbevoe yet forbear ! Forbear to drop a tear upon his urn ! Whose taste refined, is witnessed by these groves, These verdant slopes, where by a thousand hands, His genius he indulged — ^for well he knew To polish nature, and to give the stamp Of greatness to the whole, — what to conceal, What leave exposed, — and by well-judged deceit, Make her more lorely in the garb of Abt. The sarcred pile in Qothic grandeur rear'd, Where Dubham's mitr'd princes palac'd live ; Where Libebalitt, of open mein, And BocTNTT dwell (an ancient British pair), Fills the bold eminence, and crowns the scene. Digitized by Google
