Furrow to furrow, oar to oar succeeds,
Each length away, more bright, more exquisite;
The sister shells that hither, thither, flit
Strew the long stream like scattered maple-seeds.
A comrade on the marge now lags, now leads,
Who with short calls his pace doth intermit:
An angry Pan, afoot; but if he sits,
Auspicious Pan among the river reeds.
West of the glowing hayricks, tawny black
Where waters by their warm escarpments run,
Two lovers, newly crossed from Kennington,
Print in the early dew a married track,
And drain the aroma'd eve, and spend the sun,
Ere in laborious health the crews come back.
[II. Ad Antiquarium]
My gentle Aubrey, who in everything
Hadst of thy city's youth so lovely lust,
Yet never lineal to her towers august
Thy spirit could fix, or perfectly upbring,
Sleep, sleep! I ope, not unremembering,
Thy comely manuscript, and interthrust
Find delicate hueless leaves more sad than dust,
Two centuries unkissed of any Spring.
Filling a homesick page beneath a lime,
Thy mood beheld, as mine thy debtor's now,
The endless terraces of ended Time
Vague in green twilight. Goodly was release
Into that Past where these poor leaves, and thou,
Do freshen in the air of eldest peace.
[III. Martyrs’ Memorial]
Such natural debts of love our Oxford knows,
So many ancient dues undesecrate,
I marvel how the landmark of a hate
For witness unto future time she chose;
How 'gainst her own corroborate ranks arose
The Three, in great denial only great,
For Art's enshrining! Thus, averted straight,
My soul to seek a holier captain goes:
That sweet adventurer whom Truth befell
Whenas the synagogues were watching not;
Whose crystal name on royal Oriel
Hangs like a shield; who to an outland spot
Led hence, beholds his Star, and counts it well
To live of all his dear domain forgot.