Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

"And many a slumb'ring cottage round

"Startles-how still their hearts will lie!

“Of them who, wrapt in earth so cold,

"No more the smiling day shall view, "Should many a tender tale be told;

"For many a tender thought is due.

"Hast thou not seen some lover pale, "When evening brought the pensive hour, "Step slowly o'er the shadowy vale,

"And stop to pluck the frequent flower?

"Those flowers he surely meant to strew "On lost affection's lowly cell;

"Though there, as fond remembrance grew, "Forgotten, from his hand they fell.

"Has not for thee the fragrant thorn

"Been taught her first rose to resign?

“With vain but pious fondness borne
"To deck thy Nancy's honour'd shrine!

""Tis nature pleading in the breast,

"Fair memory of her works to find; "And when to fate she yields the rest, "She claims the monumental mind.

[ocr errors]

Why, else, the o'ergrown paths of time "Would thus the letter'd sage explore, "With pain these crumbling ruins climb, "And on the doubtful sculpture pore?

"Why seeks he with unwearied toil

'

Through death's dim walks to urge his way,

"Reclaim his long asserted spoil,

"And lead oblivion into day?

<< "Tis nature prompts, by toil or fear

"Unmov'd, to range through death's domain :

"The tender parent loves to hear "Her childrens' story told again.

"Treat not with scorn his thoughtful hours, "If haply near these haunts he stray ; "Nor take the fair enlivening flowers

"That bloom to cheer his lonely way."

THE HELMETS.

XLVI.

-PENROSE.

TWAS midnight-every mortal eye was closed Through the whole mansion-save an antique crone's

That o'er the dying embers faintly watched
The broken sleep (fell harbinger of death)
Of a sick Boteler.-Above indeed,

In a drear gallrey, (lighted by one lamp,
Whose wick the poor departing Seneschal
Did closely imitate), paced slow and sad
The village curate, waiting late to shrive
The penitent when 'wake. Scarce show'd the ray

To fancy's eye, the pourtray'd characters

That graced the wall-On this and t'other side
Suspended, nodded o'er the steepy stair,

In many a trophy form'd, the knightly groupe
Of helms and targets, gauntlets, maces strong,
And horses' furniture-brave monuments

Of ancient chivalry.-Through the stained pane
Low gleam'd the moon-not bright-but of such power
As mark'd the clouds, black, threatning over head,
Full mischief-fraught ;-from these in many a peal
Growl'd the near thunder-flash'd the frequent blaze
Of lightning blue. While round the fretted dome
The wind sung surly: with unusual clank
The armour shook tremendous:-On a couch
Placed in the oriel, sunk the churchman down:
For who, alone, at that dread hour of night,
Could bear portentous prodigy!

"I hear it," cries the proudly gilded casque
(Fill'd by the soul of one, who erst took joy
In slaughterous deeds) "I hear amidst the gale

Line 14th, Oriel, a projecting window.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »