The Zenana and minor poems of L. E. L. [i.e. Landon] With a memoir by Emma Roberts |
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FURNESS ABBEY.
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 | The Zenana and minor poems of L. E. L. [i.e. Landon] |  |
75
FURNESS ABBEY.
IN THE VALE OF NIGHTSHADE, LANCASHIRE.
I wish for the days of the olden time,
When the hours were told by the abbey chime,
When the glorious stars looked down through the midnigh{t} dim,
Like approving saints on the choir's sweet hymn:
I think of the days we are living now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
When the hours were told by the abbey chime,
When the glorious stars looked down through the midnigh{t} dim,
Like approving saints on the choir's sweet hymn:
I think of the days we are living now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
76
I would be content alone to dwell
Where the ivy shut out the sun from my cell,
With the death's-head at my side, and the missal on my knee,
Praying to that heaven which was opening to me:
Fevered and vain are the days I lead now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
Where the ivy shut out the sun from my cell,
With the death's-head at my side, and the missal on my knee,
Praying to that heaven which was opening to me:
Fevered and vain are the days I lead now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
Silken broidery no more would I wear,
Nor golden combs in my golden hair;
I wore them but for one, and in vain they were worn;
My robe should be of serge, my crown of the thorn:
'Tis a cold false world we dwell in now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
Nor golden combs in my golden hair;
I wore them but for one, and in vain they were worn;
My robe should be of serge, my crown of the thorn:
'Tis a cold false world we dwell in now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
I would that the cloister's quiet were mine;
In the silent depths of some holy shrine.
I would tell my blessed beads, and would weep away
From my inmost soul every stain of clay:
My heart's young hopes they have left me now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
In the silent depths of some holy shrine.
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From my inmost soul every stain of clay:
My heart's young hopes they have left me now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
“Through four centuries this religious house flourished, extending continually its revenues and its hospitality; and how much longer the monks might have kept their station, had not our eighth Henry and the Pope quarrelled about the divorce of Catherine of Arragon, it is impossible to say,”— Baines' History of Lancashire.
| The Zenana and minor poems of L. E. L. [i.e. Landon] | |