Groves of Stowe III

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Lead thro' the Circle, Virgins, lead me on,

Where, guided by the still-revolving Sun,

The faithful Dial counts the fleeting Hour,

Lead to the Church's venerable Tower:

Which like the life-producing Plant of Old,

That flourish'd once in Eden's blessed Mould,

In the mid-Garden placed, its sacred Head

Uprears, embosom'd in aspiring Shade:

And blest with Vertue, like that wond'rous Tree,

Confers on Mortals Immortality.

 

Done