Say, shall the puny champion fondly dare This parricide, that wounds a mother's breast? Thus in some gallant ship, that long has bore Britain's victorious cross from shore to shore, By chance, beneath her close sequester'd cells Some low-born worm, a lurking mischief dwells; Eats his blind way, and saps with secret guile The deep foundations of the floating pile. In vain the forest lent its stateliest pride, Rear'd her tall mast, and fram'd her knotty side; The martial thunder's rage in vain she stood, With ev'ry conflict of the stormy flood; More sure the reptile's little arts devour Than wars, or waves, or Eurus' wint'ry pow'r. Ye fretted pinnacles, ye fanes sublime, Ye massy piles of old munificence, At once the pride of learning and defence; Ye cloisters pale, that length'ning to the sight Ye high-arch'd walks, where oft the whispers clear Ev'n now, confess'd to my adoring eyes, His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing quire, All who to Albion gave the arts of peace, And best the labours plann'd of letter'd ease; Who taught with truth, or with persuasion mov'd; Who sooth'd with numbers, or with sense improv'd; Who rang'd the pow'rs of reason, or refin’d All that adorn'd or humaniz'd the mind; Each priest of health, that mix'd the balmy bowl, To rear frail man, and stay the fleeting soul; All crowd around, and echoing to the sky, Ye massy piles of old munificence, At once the pride of learning and defence; Ye cloisters pale, that length'ning to the sight Ye high-arch'd walks, where oft the whispers clear Ev'n now, confess'd to my adoring eyes, In awful ranks thy gifted sons arise. Tuning to knightly tale his British reeds, Thy genuine bards immortal Chaucer leads: His hoary head o'erlooks the gazing quire, With graceful step see Addison advance, See Chillingworth the depths of doubt explore, All who to Albion gave the arts of peace, And best the labours plann'd of letter'd ease; Who taught with truth, or with persuasion mov'd; Who sooth'd with numbers, or with sense improv'd; Who rang'd the pow'rs of reason, or refin'd All that adorn'd or humaniz'd the mind; Each priest of health, that mix'd the balmy bowl, To rear frail man, and stay the fleeting soul; All crowd around, and echoing to the sky, |