XXII But, ah! 'twas a sight of pity and fright, All grisly they lay, and they lie to this day, Thy birds are not flown," cried a voice to her moan; "Oh! never again shall they fly, Till Evenlode flow to the steeple at Stow, And Oddington mount as high. XXIV. "But here shall they stand, forlorn on dry land, And parch in the drought and the blast, Nor e'er bathe a feather, save in fog and foul weather, Till many an age be past. XXV. "More fetter'd and bound than Geese in a pound, Could aught their bondage atone, They shall ne'er dread the feast of St. Michael at least, Like Geese of flesh and bone. XXVI. "But pitying fate at length shall abate By the aid of a Sage in a far distant age, XXVII. "A Pundit his art to this seer shall impart; The hills shall retire, and the vallies aspire, XXVIII. "Then, Alice, thy flock their charm shall unlock, And pace with majestic stride, From Addlestrop heath to Daylesford beneath, To lave in their native tide. XXIX. And one shall go peep like an isle o'er the deep, Another delighted wade, At the call of this Wizard, to moisten her gizzard, By the side of a fair cascade. XXIX. "This Sage to a Dame shall be wedded, whose name Praise, honour, and love shall command; By poets renown'd, and by courtesy crown'd XXXI. Here ceas'd the high strain: but seek not in vain To unravel the dark recòrd: Enough that ye wot, 'twas trac'd to the spot, By a Clerk of Oxenford. |