At
seeing
John
Williams
was
consecrated
bishop
of
Lincoln
,
November
11.
1621.
was
translated
to
York
December
4.
1641.
and
died
March
25.
1649.
and
was
buried
at
Landegay
near
Bangor
.
Archbishop
WILLIAMS'S
Monument
in
CARNARVONSHIRE
.
IN
that
remote
and
solitary
place
,
Which
the
seas
wash
,
and
circling
hills
embrace
,
Where
those
lone
walls
amid
the
groves
arise
,
All
that
remains
of
thee
,
fam'd
Williams
,
lies
.
Thither
,
sequester'd
shade
,
creation's
nook
,
The
wand'ring
Muse
her
pensive
journey
took
,
Curious
to
trace
the
statesman
to
his
home
,
And
moralize
at
leisure
o'er
his
tomb
:
She
came
not
,
with
the
pilgrim
,
tears
to
shed
,
Mutter
a
vow
,
or
trifle
with
a
bead
,
But
such
a
sadness
did
her
thoughts
employ
,
As
lives
within
the
neighbourhood
of
joy
.
Reflecting
much
upon
the
mighty
shade
,
His
glories
,
and
his
miseries
,
she
said
:
"
How
poor
the
lot
of
the
once-honour'd
dead
!
Perhaps
the
dust
is
Williams
,
that
we
tread
.
The
learn'd
,
ambitious
,
politic
,
and
great
,
Statesman
,
and
prelate
,
this
alas
!
thy
fate
.
Cou'd
not
thy
Lincoln
yield
her
pastor
room
,
Cou'd
not
thy
York
supply
thee
with
a
tomb
?
Was
it
for
this
thy
losty
genius
soar'd
,
Caress'd
by
monarchs
and
by
crowds
ador'd
?
For
this
,
thy
hand
o'er
rivals
cou'd
prevail
,
Grasping
by
turns
the
crosier
and
the
He
was
made
lord
keeper
of
the
great
seal
July
20.
1621.
seal
?
Who
dar'd
on
Laud's
meredian
pow'r
to
frown
,
And
on
aspiring
Buckingham
look
down
.
This
thy
gay
morn
,
—
but
ere
the
day
decline
Clouds
gather
,
and
adversity
is
thine
.
Doom'd
to
behold
thy
country's
fierce
alarms
,
What
had
thy
trembling
age
to
do
with
arms
?
Thy
lands
dragoon'd
,
thy
palaces
in
dust
,
Why
was
thy
life
protracted
to
be
curst
?
Thy
king
in
chains
,
—
thyself
by
lawless
might
Strip't
of
all
pow'r
,
and
exil'd
from
thy
right
.
Awhile
the
venerable
hero
stood
,
And
stemm'd
with
quiv'ring
limbs
the
boist'rous
flood
;
At
length
,
o'er-match'd
by
injuries
and
time
,
Stole
from
the
world
and
sought
his
native
clime
.
Cambria
for
him
with
moans
her
region
fills
:
She
wept
his
downfal
from
a
thousand
hills
:
Tender
embrac'd
her
prelate
tho'
undone
,
Stretch'd
out
her
mother-rocks
to
hide
her
son
:
Search'd
,
while
alive
,
each
vale
for
his
repast
,
And
,
when
he
died
,
receiv'd
him
in
her
breast
.
Envied
Ambition
!
what
are
all
thy
schemes
,
But
waking
misery
,
or
pleasing
dreams
,
Sliding
and
tottering
on
the
heights
of
state
!
The
subject
of
this
verse
declares
thy
fate
.
Great
as
he
was
,
you
see
how
small
the
gain
,
A
burial
so
obscure
,
a
Muse
so
mean
.