New Castle, historic and picturesque . oad. In autumn, the marshis ablaze with samphire weed. Where the creek begins tobroaden, begin the lands of the old Langdon farm. Here arenoble, open fields, sloping to the water. Let us row softlynow, for we approach the tomb of a poet — John Elwyn. Undera solitary, ancient oak, at the foot of the field, washed every dayby the tide, he lies buried, and realizes his last wish — whichwas that of Timon of Athens : Timon hath made his everlasting mansionUpon the beached verge of the salt flood,Which once a daj with his embossed frothThe turbulent surge shall
New Castle, historic and picturesque . oad. In autumn, the marshis ablaze with samphire weed. Where the creek begins tobroaden, begin the lands of the old Langdon farm. Here arenoble, open fields, sloping to the water. Let us row softlynow, for we approach the tomb of a poet — John Elwyn. Undera solitary, ancient oak, at the foot of the field, washed every dayby the tide, he lies buried, and realizes his last wish — whichwas that of Timon of Athens : Timon hath made his everlasting mansionUpon the beached verge of the salt flood,Which once a daj with his embossed frothThe turbulent surge shall cover. He was a true poet; for I call him a ]joet who has added onegood line to his countrys literature, and he wrote more than , never to become the favorites of the fashionable poeticalcalendars for every day in the year, I fear. Yet, for one portionof our New England summer, June, he wrote the stanza which * See Brewsters Rambles About Portsmouth, 2d Series, p. 207; and R. Works, vol. x, p. 400. t-\\ \-^ V ..
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