Rev. Thomas Warton

A Constant Reader, "Lines written in the Rooms supposed to be Warton's, at Trinity College, Oxon" Gentleman's Magazine 95 (June 1825) 546.

Did living genius here display
The glory of her hallow'd ray;
Proclaim a son, and proudly shed
A halo bright around her head?
Yes, Warton, here the rapturous fire
First kindled from thy joyous lyre;
When from its chords flash'd wild and free
The thrilling strain of minstrelsy.
Oh! if there be a gladd'ning power
That cheers the heart in lonesome hour,
A thought reviving to the breast,
In solitude that woos its rest,
Sure 'tis to feel, while yet alone,
A soul congenial to one's own;
By admiration, or by love
Inspir'd, oh! how sweet to prove!
So, Warton, when mine eye surveys
Objects that oft have won thy gaze,
And Fancy deems thy Spirit trace,
E'en still, her earthly dwelling-place;
A secret pleasure loves to brood
On the lone lap of solitude,
While joy pervades my inmost breast
Whene'er these pensive eyes review
Those sable lines of ancient yew
High towering, whose gloomy brow
Frowns o'er the classic walk below:
Then musing lonely, oft will say,
Here Warton 'erst has trill'd a lay,
As there his lingering footsteps stray'd
Beneath those limes' inviting shade,
Whose ming'ling arms, fantastic, woo
Repose in your fair avenue.
Warton, adieu! my song is o'er;
And silence reigns as heretofore,
When thy last ling'ring accents fell
To cheer this dark monastic cell.
May 29.