(The web is wove; your work is done).”
Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn,
Leave me uncurl’d, undinner’d here to mourn.
Through the broad gate that leads to College Hall,
They melt, they fly, they vanish all.
But oh! what happy scenes of pure delight,
Slow moving on their simple charms unroll.
Ye rapturous visions, spare my aching sight,
Ye unborn beauties, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Coventry we wail: