Original - Duke Divinity School
Original - Duke Divinity School
Original - Duke Divinity School
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There the Monarch Oak appears,<br />
Son of thrice an hundred Years:<br />
There round their Chief a lowly Band<br />
Mixt in gay Confusion stand:<br />
Part reach their pious Arms to shade<br />
The sacred Ashes of the Dead;<br />
Part on the Mount’s steep Forehead grow,<br />
Nodding o’er the Waves below.<br />
Here too Cherwell rolls her Tide,<br />
Bending Willows crown her Side.<br />
Willow, inglorious, hapless Tree,<br />
Doom’d to wasting Flames a Prey;<br />
Fond of the sequester’d Vale,<br />
Ever languid, ever pale;<br />
Far from me thy Branch remove,<br />
Emblem fit for luckless Love!<br />
Nature, why dost thou bestow<br />
Here thy sweetly-varied Show?<br />
Why, in this luxuriant Clime,<br />
Wanton as in thy early Prime?<br />
Why, profuse of Sweets, outpour<br />
All thy long-collected Store?<br />
All that breathe in verdant Spring,<br />
All that yellow Summers bring,<br />
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