Classic Poem

Thy Gothic spires, that stand in rev'rend row,
Where once the sweets of social bliss I knew,
Oxford, as now my weary steps pursue,
From Bayley's grove to these fair meads below
Descending, why do tears unbidden flow?
Is it that past delights, recall'd to view,
Can spread the cheek with Sorrow's pensive hue;
Or that my soul ev'n here has tasted woe,
Ev'n here, where Learning, Mirth, and Friendship, reign?
Yet the bright visions, which thy bow'rs display
To the warm poet's eye, have not in vain
Gladden'd my heart: in all our mortal day
We drink the mingled cup of bliss and pain;
Enough if each diversify our way.