YE distant spires, ye antique towers, That crown the wat❜ry glade, Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade; And ye, that from the stately brow His silver-winding way : Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade Ah, fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen The captive linnet which enthral ? While some on earnest business bent Their murm'ring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, And lively cheer, of vigour born; Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see, how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murth'rous band! Ah, tell them, they are men! |