Milton, our noblest poet, in the grace Of youth, in those fair eyes and clustering hair, That brow untouched by one faint line of care, To mar its openness, we seem to trace...
When I was sitting, sad, and all alone, Remembering youth and love for ever fled, And many friends now resting with the dead, While the still summer's light departing shone,...
Fair inmate of these ivied walls, beneath Whose silent cloisters Ella sleeps in death, Let loftier bards, in rich and glowing lays, Thy gentleness, thy grace, thy virtue praise!...