Poems (David)/Epilogue
EPILOGUE.
MY task is o'er!—and my lay is sung!—
Laid by my harp, on the "Isis" strung,
Their humble cords relax, their tensions o'er,
The fading echoes die away once more;
Each noble tower, each slender Gothic spire,
Lives in my memory and thy name inspire.
A love so strong, so powerful and deep,
My mind can scarce conceive, or tongue can speak!
Oxford, thy worthy fame once more I've sung,
With sounding harp, and ever ready tongue;
Fain would I see thine ancient walls unscath'd
By the sad errors of our modern days.
Hold fast thy "Faith," if thou would'st never see
Thy power and glory fade midst deep adversity.
Beware! Rome's deep and ever subtle guile
Is laid beneath her soft and blandest smile,—
With every outward pomp and glittering show,
She steadily seeks to strike the dire blow!
Beware! lest midst the ruins of her former state,
Proud Oxford, sorrowing, mourns her fallen fate.
Laid by my harp, on the "Isis" strung,
Their humble cords relax, their tensions o'er,
The fading echoes die away once more;
Each noble tower, each slender Gothic spire,
Lives in my memory and thy name inspire.
A love so strong, so powerful and deep,
My mind can scarce conceive, or tongue can speak!
Oxford, thy worthy fame once more I've sung,
With sounding harp, and ever ready tongue;
Fain would I see thine ancient walls unscath'd
By the sad errors of our modern days.
Hold fast thy "Faith," if thou would'st never see
Thy power and glory fade midst deep adversity.
Beware! Rome's deep and ever subtle guile
Is laid beneath her soft and blandest smile,—
With every outward pomp and glittering show,
She steadily seeks to strike the dire blow!
Beware! lest midst the ruins of her former state,
Proud Oxford, sorrowing, mourns her fallen fate.