But what if One, thro' grove or flowery mead,
Indulging thus at will the creeping feet
Of a voluptuous indolence, should meet
The hovering Shade of venerable Bede;
The Saint, the Scholar, from a circle freed
Of toil stupendous, in a hallowed seat
Of Learning, where he heard the billows beat
On a wild coast--rough monitors to feed
Perpetual industry. Sublime Recluse!
The recreant soul, that dares to shun the debt
Imposed on human kind, must first forget
Thy diligence, thy unrelaxing use
Of a long life; and, in the hour of death,
The last dear service of thy passing breath!*
* He expired in the act of concluding a translation of St. John's Gospel.
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