Ye lime-trees, ranged around this hallowed urn,
    Shoot forth with lively power at Spring’s return!

* * * * *

    Here may some painter sit in future days,
    Some future poet meditate his lays! 
    Not mindless of that distant age, renowned,
    When inspiration hovered o’er this ground,
    The haunt of him who sang, how spear and shield
    In civil conflict met on Bosworth field,
    And of that famous youth (full soon removed
    From earth!) by mighty Shakspeare’s self approved. 
    Fletcher’s associate, Jonson’s friend beloved.

The first couplet of the above, as it before stood, would have appeared ludicrous, if the stone had remained after the tree might have been gone.  The couplet relating to the household virtues did not accord with the painter and the poet; the former being allegorical figures; the latter, living men.

What follows, I composed yesterday morning, thinking there might be no impropriety in placing it, so as to be visible only to a person sitting within the niche which we hollowed out of the sandstone in the winter-garden.  I am told that this is, in the present form of the niche, impossible; but I shall be most ready, when I come to Coleorton, to scoop out a place for it, if Lady Beaumont think it worth while.

    INSCRIPTION.

    Oft is the medal faithful to its trust
    When temples, columns, towers, are laid in dust;
    And ’tis a common ordinance of fate
    That things obscure and small outlive the great. 
    Hence, &c.

These inscriptions have all one fault, they are too long; but I was unable to do justice to the thoughts in less room.  The second has brought Sir John Beaumont and his brother Francis so lively to my mind, that I recur to the plan of republishing the former’s poems, perhaps in connection with those of Francis.  Could any further search be made after the ‘Crown of Thorns?’ If I recollect right, Southey applied without effect to the numerous friends he has among the collectors.  The best way, perhaps, of managing this republication would be, to print it in a very elegant type and paper, and not many copies, to be sold high, so that it might be prized by the collectors as a curiosity.  Bearing in mind how many excellent things there are in Sir John Beaumont’s little volume, I am somewhat mortified at this mode of honouring his memory; but in the present state of the taste of this country, I cannot flatter myself that poems of that character would win their way into general circulation.  Should it appear advisable, another edition might afterwards be published, upon a plan which would place the book within the reach of those who have little money to spare.  I remain, my dear Sir George,

              Your affectionate friend,
                    W. WORDSWORTH[36].

[36] Memoirs, vol. i, pp. 358-60.