OXFORD.
Turret, and spire, and dome!
How proud they rise,
Clasped in the arms of elmy avenues,
Each with its robe of wisdom or of power
Around it, like a mantle. Glorious thoughts,
Born of the hoary past, and mighty shades
Nurtured in silence, and made eloquent
Here, in these cloistered cells, for after times,
Meet him, who museth here.
I sat me down
Upon a quiet seat, o'erhung with boughs
Umbrageous, at my feet a dimpling stream,
The silver Cherwell, verdant meadows spread
Broadly around, where roamed the antlered deer
At pleasure, while serene a snowy flock
Reposed or ruminated.
Did some cloud
Burst with an inborn melody?
Or harp, Instinct with numbers of the minstrel king,
Pour forth an echo strain? It was thy song,
Oh Addison! and this the chosen spot
