POEMS
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O MY LORn FAIS.FAX WITHIN this sober frame exjjcciWork of no foreign archiwct;That unto caves the quarrieE drew,And forests did W pastures hew ;Who, of his great design in pain,Did for a model vault his brain;Whose columne should so high be raised,To arch the brows that od them gazed. ' The atit q! Lord Fairfax, lying on tliE iiorlli-ctnbink of the WharTe, near fo ic« junction with the Ou(e-It wat 1 picturesque brick mansion, with * centre con-taining a hall fift/ j'irdi long, hdiJ two n'ingi, II IibiI(teen mainly built duriog tht Civil War, and wae jmtlinithed wh«n Fairfax ao'l MptvcU arrived ibuuc thebcgifining of July 1650.
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