Oxford, since late I left thy peaceful shore,

Much I regret thy domes with turrets crown’d,

Thy crested walls with twining ivy bound,

Thy Gothic fanes, dim isles, and cloysters hoar,

And treasur’d rolls of Wisdom’s ancient lore;

Nor less thy varying bells, which hourly sound

In pensive chime, or ring in lively round,

Or toll in the slow Curfeu’s solemn roar;

Much too thy moonlight walks, and musings grave

Mid silent shades of high-embowering trees,

And much thy Sister-Streams, whose willows wave

In whispering cadence to the evening breeze;

But most those Friends, whose much-lov’d converse gave

Thy gentle charms a tenfold power to please.