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Poem by Mark Akenside
For a Statue of Chaucer at Woodstock
SUCH was old Chaucer. Such the placid mien Of him who first with harmony informed The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him while his legends blithe He sang of love or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life, through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance From Blenheim’s towers, O stranger! thou art come Glowing with Churchill’s trophies, yet in vain Dost thou applaud them if thy breast be cold To him, this other hero, who in times Dark and untaught, began with charming verse To tame the rudeness of his native land.
Mark Akenside's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org