It whispers from our waving trees;100
And hark! blithe Congreve’s laughter clear
Is mingling with our harmonies;
And Farquhar’s jests around us fly,
Mementos of a merrier time;
And Swift is near, with piercing eye105
And mouth of gall, who stung with rhyme
And crushed with iron clubs of prose;
And Berkeley, with his angel brow;
And Burke, who high as eagle rose;