In vain fair Auburn weeps her desert plains; She moves our envy who so well complains. In vain has proud oppression laid her low; She wears a garland on her faded brow. Now, Auburn, now absolve impartial fate Which, if it made thee wretched, makes thee great. So, unobserv'd some humble plant may bloom, Till, crush'd, it fills the air with sweet perfume. So, had thy swains in ease and plenty slept, Thy Poet had not sung, nor Britain wept. Nor let Britannia mourn her drooping bay, Unhonoured genius, and her swift decay; Oh patron of the Poor! -- it cannot be, While one, one Poet yet remains like thee; Nor can the Muse desert our favoured isle Till thou desert the Muse and scorn her smile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL; MIRIAM'S SONG by THOMAS MOORE THE DYING SOLDIER by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO THE SHIP OF STATE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE SPROUTING BOARD by AL-ISRA'ILI I SHALL HAVE PEACE AGAIN (WRITTEN AFTER READING 'RIDERS TO THE SEA' by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY INTIMATE VISION by JOSEPHINE BATES LE GUIGNON by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |