Poem by Mark Akenside

For a Column at Runnymede

Thou, who the verdant plain dost traverse here
While Thames among his willows from thy view
Retires; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene
Around contemplate well. This is the place
Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king
(Then rendered tame) did challenge and secure
The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on
Till thou hast blest their memory, and paid
Those thanks which God appointed the reward
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home
Salute thee with a father's honour'd name,
Go, call thy sons: instruct them what a debt
They owe their ancestors; and make them swear
To pay it, by transmitting down entire
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born. 

1. For a Statue of Chaucer at Woodstock
2. On Lyric Poetry
3. Ode 1. Allusion to Horace
4. Ode to Thomas Edwards, Esq; on the late Edition of Mr. Pope's Works
5. The Virtuoso; in imitation of Spencer's Style and Stanza

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