unseen,
O'er the fainting hero threw
Her mantle of ambrosial blue,
And bade her spirits bear him far,
In Merlin's agate-axled car,
To her green isle's enameled steep
Far in the navel of the deep."

Other poems of Thomas Warton touching upon his favorite studies are the
"Ode Sent to Mr. Upton, on his Edition of the Faery Queene," the "Monody
Written near Stratford-upon-Avon," the sonnets, "Written at Stonehenge,"
"To Mr. Gray," and "On King Arthur's Round Table," and the humorous
epistle which he attributes to Thomas Hearne, the antiquary, denouncing
the bishops for their recent order that fast-prayers should be printed in
modern type instead of black letter, and pronouncing a curse upon the
author of "The Companion to the Oxford Guide Book" for his disrespectful
remarks about antiquaries.

"May'st thou pore in vain
For dubious doorways! May revengeful moths
Thy ledgers eat! May chronologic spouts
Retain no cipher legible! May crypts
Lurk undiscovered! Nor may'st thou spell the names
Of saints in storied windows, nor the dates
Of bells discover, nor the genuine site
Of abbots' pantries!"

Warton was a classical scholar and, like most of the forerunners of the
romantic school, was a trifle shame-faced over his Gothic heresies. Sir
Joshua Reynolds had supplied a painted window of classical design for New
College, Oxford; and Warton, in some complimentary verses, professes that
those "portraitures of Attic art" have won him back to the true taste;[9]
and prophesies that henceforth angels, apostles, saints, miracles,
martyrdoms, and tales of legendary lore shall--

"No more the sacred window's round disgrace,
But yield to Grecian groups the shining space. . .
Thy powerful hand has broke the Gothic chain,
And brought my bosom back to truth again. . .
For long, enamoured of a barbarous age,
A faithless truant to the classic page--
Long have I loved to catch the simple chime
Of minstrel harps, and spell the fabling rime;
To view the festive rites, the knightly play,
That decked heroic Albion's elder day;
To mark the mouldering halls of barons bold,
And the rough castle, cast in giant mould;
With Gothic manners, Gothic arts explore,
And muse on the magnificence of yore.
But chief, enraptured have I loved to roam,
A lingering votary, the vaulted dome,
Where the tall shafts, that mount