THOU ruin'd relique of the ancient pile, Rear'd by that hoary bard, whose tuneful lyre First breath'd the voice of music on our isle; Where, warn'd in life's calm evening to retire, Old Chaucer slowly sunk at last to night; Still shall his forceful line, his varied strain, A firmer, nobler monument remain, When the high grass waves o'er thy lonely site; And yet the cankering tooth of envious age Has sapp'd the fabric of his lofty rhyme; Though genius still shall ponder o'er the page, And piercing through the shadowy mist of time, The festive Bard of Edward's court recall, As fancy paints the pomp that once adorn'd thy wall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE OLD MAN OF VERONA by CLAUDIAN LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF EOGHAN RUADH (OWEN ROE) O'NEIL by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS RELIGIO LAICI; OR, A LAYMAN'S FAITH by JOHN DRYDEN THE LAST LEAF by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES WHEN FIRST MY WAY by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO A GENTLEMAN & LADY ON THE DEATH ... CHILD NAMED AVIS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |