University of Virginia Library

O Nature! be my muse—to touch the scene
Of Bingley's glories, which long since have been:
When in full splendour were its ancient halls,
And high achievements graced their massy walls;
When oaks, which now the whirlwind's force withstand,
Had bent to earth beneath an infant's hand,
Where winding Aire, enamoured of the place,
Moves on so slow, it seems to stop and gaze;—
To leave the scene the glitt'ring river mourns,
And shows reluctance in its varied turns,

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Till, forced at last, it rushes down the steep,
Turns into rage, as if too proud to weep!