Fled in the shower, or crumbled by the frost; 60 When all thy work is done away as clean As if thou never spread'st thy gray and green: Then may'st thou see how Nature's work is done, How slowly true she lays her colours on; When her least speck upon the hardest flint Has mark and form and is a living tint, And so embodied with the rock, that few Can the small germ upon the substance view[40]. Seeds, to our eye invisible, will find On the rude rock the bed that fits their kind; 70 There, in the rugged soil, they safely dwell, Till showers and snows the subtle atoms swell, And spread th' enduring foliage;--then we trace The freckled flower upon the flinty base; These all increase, till in unnoticed years The stony tower as gray with age appears; With coats of vegetation, thinly spread, Coat above coat, the living on the dead. These then dissolve to dust, and make a way For bolder foliage, nursed by their decay; 80 The long-enduring ferns in time will all Die and depose their dust upon the wall, Where the wing'd seed may rest, till many a flower Show Flora's triumph o'er the falling tower. But ours yet stands, and has its bells renown'd For size magnificent and solemn sound. Each has its motto: some contrived to tell, In monkish rhyme, the uses of a bell[41]-- Such wond'rous good, as few conceive could spring From ten loud coppers when their clappers swing. 90 Enter'd the Church, we to a tomb proceed, Whose names and titles few attempt to read; Old English letters, and those half pick'd out, Leave us, unskilful readers, much in doubt. Our sons shall see its more degraded state; The tomb of grandeur hastens to its fate; That marble arch, our sexton's favourite show, With all those ruff'd and painted pairs below-- The noble lady and the lord who rest Supine, as courtly dame and warrior dress'd-- 100 All are departed from their state sublime, Mangled and wounded in their war with time, Colleagued with mischief; here a leg is fled, And lo! the baron with but half a head; Midway is cleft the arch; the very base Is batter'd round and shifted from its place. Wonder not, mortal, at thy quick decay-- See! men of marble piece-meal melt away; When whose the image we no longer read, But monuments themselves memorials need[42]. 110 With few such stately proofs of grief or pride, By wealth erected, is our Church supplied; But we have mural tablets, every size, That wo could wish, or vanity devise. Death levels man,--the wicked and the just, The wise, the weak, lie blended in the dust; And by the honours dealt to every name, The king of terrors seems to level fame. --See here lamented wives, and every wife The pride and comfort of her husband's life; 120