To Two Cambridge Magicians
In London lanes, uncanonized, untoldBy letter’d brass or stone, apart they lie,Dead and unreck’d of by the passer-by.Here still they seem together, as of old,To breathe our air, to walk our Cambridge ground,Here still to after learners to impartHints of the magic that gave Faustus artTo make blind Homer sing “with ravishing soundTo his melodious harp” of Oenon, deadFor Alexander’s love; that framed the spellOf him who, in the Friar’s “secret cell,”Made the great marvel of the Brazen Head.Marlowe and Greene, on you a Cambridge handSprinkles these pious particles of sand.