Thus oft delighted have I, gazing, stood,
Where rural Canklow lifts her climbing wood,
And Rother, winding o'er the vale below,
Thro' scenes of peace reluctant seems to flow;
That ample vale, hills gently rising, bound
An amphitheatre enclosing round.
There, seen afar, ascending to the skies.
Thy distant smoke and turrets, Sheffield, rise;
Whilst, near the sunny plains that round me smile,
Wentworth ! I see thy splendid, princely pile,
With all its woods umbrageous spread around,
And all its vast extent of verdant ground -
Where Art aud Nature seem, with rival charms,
To court Fitzwilliam to their sheltering arms,
From public cares demand his late release,
Aud lure him home to tranquil scenes of peace.
Illustrious Earl! exempt from common woes,
Long may thy age in scenes like these repose.
Whilst virtue's soothing beams around thee shine,
Gilding the evening of thy life's decline :
And when at last, laid on the lifeless bier
Embalm'd by many a grateful orphan's tear '
Midst kindred dust thy sacred ashes rest,
May thy soul rise, and mingle with the blest.
The bust may perish, and the dome may full,
O'er halls of grandeur death extend his pall,
But, more refulgent, virme claims the skies,
And spurns the dust where meaner glory dies !