Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Written at Stonehenge

Thou noblest monument of Albion's isle,
Whether by Merlin's aid, from Scythia's shore
To Amber's fatal plain, Pendragon bore,
Huge frame of giant hands the mighty pile,
T'entomb his Britons, slain by Hengist's guile:
Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore,
Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore:
Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with savage spoil,
To Victory's idol vast, an unhewn shrine
Rear'd the rude heap; or, in thy hallow'd round
Repose the kings of Brutus' genuine line;
Or here those kings in solemn state were crown'd:
Studious to trace thy pond'rous origin,
We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd.

Thomas Warton the younger (1728-1790)

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