Woodstock

FROM fields of death to Woodstock’s peaceful glooms

(The poet’s haunt) Britannia’s hero comes—

Begin, my Muse, and softly touch the string:

Here Henry loved; and Chaucer learned to sing.

  Hail fabled grotto! hail Elysian soil!

Thou fairest spot of fair Britannia’s isle!

Where kings of old concealed forgot the throne,

And beauty was content to shine unknown;

Where love and war by turns pavilions rear,

And Henry’s bowers near Blenheim’s dome appear;

The wearied champion lull in soft alcoves,

The noblest boast of thy romantic groves.

Oft, if the Muse presage, shall he be seen

By Rosamonda fleeting o’er the green,

In dreams be hailed by heroes’ mighty shades,

And hear old Chaucer warble through the glades:

O’er the famed echoing vaults his name shall bound,

And hill to hill reflect the favorite sound.