When nature's happiest touch could add no more, Heaven lent an angel's beauty to her face. - 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.

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.

The death-bell thrice was heard to ring,
An aerial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.