an ODE.
7
VI.August and hoary, o'er the sloping Dale,The Gothic Abbey rears its sculptur'd Towers;Dull through the Roofs resounds the whistling Gale;Dark Solitude among the Pillars lowers.
VII.Where yon old Trees bend o'er a Place of Graves,And solemn shade a Chapel's sad remains,Where yon scath'd Poplar through the Window waves,And, twining round, the hoary Arch sustains;
VIII.There, oft, at Dawn, as One forgot behind,Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where,Some hoary Shepherd, o'er his Staff reclin'd,Pores on the Graves, and sighs a broken Prayer.
