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Of yonder water lilly whose broad leaf
Lies on the wave,-and art thou not refresh'd ..
By the fresh odour of the running stream?
Soon Traveller ! does the river reach the end
Of all its windings : from the near ascent
Thou wilt behold the ocean where it pours
Its waters and is lost. Remember thou,
Traveller ! that even so thy restless years
Flow to the ocean of eternity.

INSCRIPTION II.

For a Monument at OXFORD, opposite Balliol gate-way.

Here Latimer and Ridley in the flames
Bore witness to the truth. If thou hast walk'd
Uprightly thro' the world, proud thoughts of joy
Will fill thy breast in contemplating here
Congenial virtue. But if thou hast swerved
From the right path, if thou hast sold thy soul
And served, a hireling, with apostate zeal,
The cause thy heart disowns, oh! cherish well
The honourable shame that sure this place
Will wake within thee, timely penitent,
And let the future expiate the past.

INSCRIPTION III.

For a Monument in the VALE of EwIas.

Here was it Stranger, that the patron Saint
Of Cambria past his age of penitence,
A solitary man; and here he made
His hermitage, the roots his food, his drink
Of Hodney's mountain stream. Perchance thy youth
Has read with eager wonder how the Knight
Of Wales in Ormandine's enchanted bower,
Slept the long sleep: and if that in thy veins
Flows the

pure blood of Britain, sure that blood
Has flow'd with quicker impulse at the tale
Of David's deeds, when thro' the press of war
His gallant comrades followed his green crest
To conquest. Stranger ! Hatterill's mountain heights
And this fair vale of Ewias, and the stream
Of Hodney, to thine after-thoughts will rise
More grateful, thus associate with the name
Of David and the deeds of other days.

INSCRIPTION IV.

EPITAPH on KING JOHN.

John rests below. A man more infamous
Has never held the sceptre of these realms,
And bruised beneath the iron rod of Power,
The oppressed men of England. Englishman !
Curse not his memory. Murderer as he was,
Coward and slave, yet he it was who sign'd
That charter which should make thee morn and night
Be thankful for thy birth-place: Englishman !
That holy charter, which, should'st thou permit
Force to destroy, or Fraud to undermine,
Thy children's groans will persecute thy soul,
For they must bear the burthen of thy crime.

INSCRIPTION V.

In a FOREST.

Stranger ! whose steps have reach'd this solitude,
Know that this lonely spot was dear to one
Devoted with no unrequited zeal
To Nature. Here, delighted he has heard
The rustling of these woods, that now perchance
Melodious to the gale of summer move;
And underneath their shade on yon smooth rock
With

grey and yellow lichens overgrown,
Often reelined, watching the silent flow
Of this perspicuous rivulet, that steals
Along its verdant course, till all around
Had fill'd his senses with tranquillity,
And ever sooth'd in spirit he return'd
A happier, better, man. Stranger, perchance
Therefore the stream more lovely to thine eye
Will glide along, and to the summer gale
The woods wave more melodious. Cleanse thou then
The weeds and mosses from this letter'd stone.

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