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The Grotto SAY, Father Thames, whose gentle pace Gives leave to view what beauties grace Your flowery banks, if you have seen The much-sung Grotto of the queen. Contemplative, forget awhile Oxonian towers, and Windsor’s pile, And Wolsey’s pride (his greatest guilt), And what great William since has built, And flowing past by Richmond scenes (Honored retreat of two great queens), From Lion House, whose proud survey Browbeats your flood, look ’cross the way, And view, from highest swell of tide, The milder scenes of Surrey side. Though yet no palace grace the shore, To lodge that pair you should adore; Nor abbeys, great in ruins, rise, Royal equivalents for vice; Behold a grot, in Delphic grove, The Graces’ and the Muses’ love; (O, might our laureate here, How would he hail his new-born year!) A temple from vain glories free, Whose goddess is Philosophy, Whose sides such licensed idols crown As superstition would pull down: The only pilgrimage I know, That men of sense would choose to go; Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, Urania cheers with heavenly voice, While all the virtues gather round To see her consecrate the ground. Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1195 |
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