Classic Poem

W OODDESON ! these eyes have seen thy natal earth,
Thy Findon, sloping from the southern downs;
Have bless'd the roof ennobled by thy birth,
And tufted valley, where no ocean frowns.

Thou wert not born to plough the neighbouring main,
Or plant thy greatness near Ambition's throne,
Or count unnumber'd fleeces on thy plain:
—The Muses lov'd and nurs'd thee for their own!

And twin'd thy temples here with wreaths of worth,
And fenc'd thy childhood from the blights of morn,
And taught enchanting song, and sent thee forth
To stretch the blessing to an age unborn:

Best blessing!—what is Pride's unwieldy state?
What awkward wealth from Indian oceans given?
What monarchs nodding under empires' weight,
If Science smile not with a ray from Heaven?

Witness yon ruins, Arundel's high tower,
And Bramber, now the bird of night's resort!
Your proud possessors reign'd in barbarous power;
The war their business, and the chase their sport;

Till there a minstrel, to the feast prefer'd,
With Cambrian harp, in gothic numbers charm'd,
Enlighten'd chiefs grew virtuous as they heard—
—The Sun of Science in its morning warm'd.—

How glorious, when it blaz'd in Milton's light,
And Shakspeare's flame, to full meridian day!
Yet smile, fair beam! though sloping from that height,
Gild our mild evening with a setting ray.