Thousands of angels at thy gate, And great archangels stand, And twenty thousand chariots wait, Great Lord, thy dread command! Through all thy great,… - William Julius Mickle

My father joy'd to show the pleasant road,
That leads thro' nature, up to nature's God.
While others teach their sons the love of gold,
He to my opening judgment would unfold
The classic page.—My mother would inspire
And fan the sallies of the muse's fire:
She taught me to be great, was to be good;
That goodness far excell'd the noblest blood.

Sae true's his words, sae smooth's his speech,
His breath like caller air,
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stairs:
And will I see his face again!
And will I hear him speak!

The dews of summer night did fall;
The moon, sweet regent of the sky,
Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall
And many an oak that grew thereby.