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25
AN AUTUMN DAY AT FOUNTAINS' ABBEY.
“A perfect day!” we cried, “A perfect day!”As round fair Fountains' winding walks we strayed,
Where yellowing leaves and mouldering arches made
The valley rich with beautiful decay.
The world-famed jewel of those ruins grey
Was grandly set in gold and crimson shade;
The sylvan glories dazzle as they fade;
The crumbling Abbey smiles itself away.
“Alas!” I murmured, “that this earth of ours
To wasting Time should its perfection owe,
And the brief splendour of autumnal bowers:”
But down Faith's vista, then I caught the glow
Of fairer landscapes, more enduring towers,
And deeper, truer joys than mortals know.
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