Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Tis sweet, fair Netley's woods among,
To gaze upon the roofless walls,
Where only sounds the night-bird's song,
While the pale moon-beam trembling falls.

'Tis sweet,—though memory loves to tell
The cloister'd forms that sleep beneath;
Pale ghosts in every shadow dwell;
And spirits sigh in every breath;

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Still with that sweetly solemn fear,
A softer, better feeling blends;—
'Twas Superstition govern'd here,
And here her sullen empire ends.

Here oft resounds the cheerful wheel
Through aisles where sloth and misery slept;
Here frolic children gaily steal,
To sport where dark-rob'd Friars crept.

And lovelier far those ivied towers,
And happier in their proud decay!
Bosom'd in nature's loveliest bowers,
And crown'd by Taste's resplendent ray;

Weston's fair Villa hangs above them
(A garland on the brow of Time;)
Bards come to worship and to love them;
Art's Votaries o'er their ruins climb.—

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And many a Castle proud I've seen,
The wreck of ages, bare and grey:
And moraliz'd in mood serene,
Thus human grandeur fades away!

I love such ruin'd towers; they float
With vision fair on memory's eye,
Till seems to breathe the Minstrel's note,
While Knights and Ladies hover nigh.

Sweet are those days in Poet's strain,—
Days of bold light and darker shade—
They come, with all their gorgeous train,
In Chivalry's bright tints array'd!

At beauty's feet the warrior brave,
In meek devotion seems to bend;—
Then woman rul'd the lover-slave!
Who guides she now?—the husband-friend!

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The cloister'd cell, the ruin'd tower,
Wake feelings mild, or visions gay;
They brighten Fancy's pensive hour;
And chase remember'd ills away.

But sadden'd from one spot I turn,
One spot where nature's softest charm
Still seems decay's slow power to spurn,
And smiles around the ruin'd farm.

It stands amid a valley fair,
Where high elms bound the verdant meads
The winding stream slow lingering there,
A lakelet clear, its waters spreads:

And never purer mirror shone;—
There sleep the clouds so fleecy white;
And through the tender leaves the Sun
Darts sudden gleams of golden light:

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They play upon the water's oreast,
Quick as the summer lightning's rush;
Upon the ruin'd wall they rest,
Deep as the maiden's hectic blush.

That wall so rude and desolate
A half dismantled roof supports;
Barr'd is th' inhospitable gate!
The long rank grass defiles the Courts.

Those chambers open to the day,
With casements flapping to the wind;
They shelter now the bird of prey,
Or the dark out-casts of mankind:

For, save the Gypsey's foot, no steps
E'er sound upon that mouldering stair;
And, as it sounds, affrighted leaps
From her rude form the startled hare.

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Still herbs and flowers, half choak'd with weeds,
The garden's simple boundaries show;
And half conceal'd by cluster'd reeds,
The Gooseberries stand in stunted row:

And on the moss-grown apple-tree,
One solitary flower expands;
And still luxuriant, gay, and free
Before the door the rose-bush stands.

I gaze; and mournful o'er my brain
The thoughts of buried comforts press:—
Comforts, whose ruins still retain
Their desolated loveliness!

And fancy says—those walls so bare
Once quiver'd to the wood-fire's light;
And many a happy face was there
Drawn round the blaze at fall of night.

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Oft from that mossy apple-tree,
Some boy, as fair as that lone flower,
Has flung the fruit with childish glee,
Much pleas'd to give, much vain of power.

The youth, more manly, from the rose
Its brightest bud has stolen, to deck
(Herself the loveliest flower that blows).
His village beauty's snowy neck:

Whilst the fair Sister smil'd to view
How carefully he pluck'd the thorn,
And archly prais'd its brilliant hue,
And begg'd it for the coming morn.—

Oh! such was once thy happiness!—
I gaze around, and fades the charm;
I sigh o'er ruin'd loveliness;
And mourn the desolated farm.