Pope’s Grotto

Thou who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave
Shines a broad Mirror through the shadowy cave;
Where ling'ring drops from mineral Roofs distill,
And pointed Crystals break the sparkling Rill,
Unpolished Gems no ray on Pride bestow,
And latent Metals innocently glow.
Approach! Great Nature studiously behold;
And eye the Mine without a wish for Gold.
Approach; but awful! Lo! the Egerian Grot,
Where, nobly-pensive, St. John sate and thought;
Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's Soul.
Let such, such only tread this sacred floor,
Who dare to love their country, and be poor.