By William Long, Esq. 189 



Taught 'mid thy massy maze their mystic lore : 



Or Danish chiefs, enrichM with savage spoil, 



To Victory's idol vast, an unhew^n shrine 



Reared the rude heap; or, in thy hallow'd round 



Repose the king's of Brutus' genuine line ; 



Or here those kings in solemn state were crown 'd : 



Studious to trace thy pond'rous origin. 



We muse on many an ancient tale renown'd. 



The Oxford English Verse prize poem for 1823, "On Stonehenge," 

 was as follows : — 



Wrapt in the veil of time's unbroken gloom. 

 Obscure as death, and silent as the tomb. 

 Where cold oblivion holds her dusky reign 

 Frowns the dark pile on Sarum's lonely plain. 



Yet think not here with classic eye to trace 

 Corinthian beauty, or Ionian grace : 

 No pillar'd lines with sculptur'd foliage crown'd. 

 No fluted remnants deck the hallow'd ground; 

 Firm, as implanted by some Titan's might. 

 Each rugged stone uprears its giant height. 

 Whence the pois'd fragment tottering seems to throw 

 A trembling shadow on the plain below. 



Here oft, when evening sheds her twilight ray. 

 And gilds with fainter beam departing day. 

 With breathless gaze, and cheek with terror pale. 

 The lingering shepherd startles at the tale. 

 How at deep midnight, by the moon's chill glance. 

 Unearthly forms prolong the viewless dance; 

 While on each whisp'ring breeze that murmurs by, 

 His busied fancy hears the hollow sigh. 



Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime. 

 Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time ! 

 'Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age, 



