U N D E R W O O D S .|
LXIX. ON LORD BACON'S BIRTH-DAY.
Hail, happy GENIUS of this ancient pile !
How comes it all things so about thee smile ?
The fire, the wine, the men ! and in the midst
Thou stand'st as if some mystery thou didst !
Pardon, I read it in thy face, the day
For whose returns, and many, all these pray ;
And so do I. This is the sixtieth year,
Since BACON, and thy lord was born, and here ;
Son to the grave wise Keeper of the Seal,
Fame and foundation of the English weal.
What then his father was, that since is he,
Now with a title more to the degree ;
England's high Chancellor : the destin'd heir,
In his soft cradle, to his father's chair :
Whose even thread the fates spin round and full,
Out of their choicest and their whitest wool.
'Tis a brave cause of joy, let it be known,
For 'twere a narrow gladness, kept thine own.
Give me a deep-crown'd bowl, that I may sing
In raising him, the wisdom of my king.
Jonson, Ben. The Works of Ben Jonson.
Boston: Phillips, Sampson, and Co., 1853. 834.
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