Classic Poem

P ENSHURST , whose moss-grown tow'rs in hoary state
Frown o'er the meads, where silent Medway flows;
Where erst the gallant Sydney sought repose
And lest for song the bloody fields of Fate,
The bard admitting at his social gate:
And he, who fir'd with Roman learning rose
To save his country from ideal woes,
Free as his teachers, though mistaken, great:
How art thou chang'd! beside the murm'ring fall
Of some lone rill, that seems in fairy ground,
No gentle bard now hears the Muse's call;
With no proud hospitality resound
The rafter'd roofs of yon deserted hall,
With helms and formidable lances crown'd.