 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
Who curb'd the barons' kingly power
?
Let hist'ry tell that fateful hour
At home, when surly winds shall roar,
And prudence shut the study door.
De Wiltons here, of mighty name,
The whelming flood, the summer stream,
Mark'd from their towers.—The fabric falls,
The rubbish of their splendid halls
Time in his march hath scatter'd wide,
And blank oblivion strives to hide .
Let hist'ry tell that fateful hour
At home, when surly winds shall roar,
And prudence shut the study door.
De Wiltons here, of mighty name,
The whelming flood, the summer stream,
Mark'd from their towers.—The fabric falls,
The rubbish of their splendid halls
10
And blank oblivion strives to hide .
A while the grazing herd was seen,
And trembling willow's silver green,
Till the fantastic current stood
In line direct for Pencraig Wood;
Whose bold green summit welcome bade,
Then rear'd behind his nodding shade.
Here, as the light boat skimm'd along,
The clarionet, and chosen song,
(That mellow, wild, Æolian lay,
“Sweet in the Woodlands,”) roll'd away
Their echoes down the stream, that bore
Each dying close to every shore,
And forward cape, and woody range,
That form the never-ceasing change,
To him who floating, void of care,
Twirls with the stream, he knows not where.
Till bold, impressive, and sublime,
Gleam'd all that's left by storms and time
Of Goodrich Towers. The mould'ring pile
Tells noble truths,—but dies the while.
O'er the steep path, through brake and brier,
His batter'd turrets still aspire,
In rude magnificence. 'Twas here
Lancastrian Henry spread his cheer,
When came the news that Hal was born,
And Monmouth hail'd th' auspicious morn:
A boy in sports, a prince in war,
Wisdom and valour crown'd his car;
Of France the terror, England's glory,
As Stratford's bard has told the story.
And trembling willow's silver green,
Till the fantastic current stood
In line direct for Pencraig Wood;
Whose bold green summit welcome bade,
Then rear'd behind his nodding shade.
Here, as the light boat skimm'd along,
The clarionet, and chosen song,
(That mellow, wild, Æolian lay,
“Sweet in the Woodlands,”) roll'd away
Their echoes down the stream, that bore
Each dying close to every shore,
And forward cape, and woody range,
That form the never-ceasing change,
11
Twirls with the stream, he knows not where.
Till bold, impressive, and sublime,
Gleam'd all that's left by storms and time
Of Goodrich Towers. The mould'ring pile
Tells noble truths,—but dies the while.
O'er the steep path, through brake and brier,
His batter'd turrets still aspire,
In rude magnificence. 'Twas here
Lancastrian Henry spread his cheer,
When came the news that Hal was born,
And Monmouth hail'd th' auspicious morn:
A boy in sports, a prince in war,
Wisdom and valour crown'd his car;
Of France the terror, England's glory,
As Stratford's bard has told the story.
No butler's proxies snore supine,
Where the old monarch kept his wine;
No Welsh ox roasting, horns and all,
Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall;
But where he pray'd, and told his beads,
A thriving ash luxuriant spreads.
Where the old monarch kept his wine;
12
Adorns his throng'd and laughing hall;
But where he pray'd, and told his beads,
A thriving ash luxuriant spreads.
No wheels by piecemeal brought the pile;
No barks embowell'd Portland Isle;
Dig, cried experience, dig away,
Bring the firm quarry into day;
The excavation still shall save
Those ramparts which its entrails gave.
“Here Kings shall dwell,” the builders cried,
“Here England's foes shall lower their pride;
“Hither shall suppliant nobles come,
“And this be England's royal home.”
Vain hope! for on the Gwentian shore
The regal banner streams no more!
Nettles, and vilest weeds that grow,
To mock poor grandeur's head laid low,
Creep round the turrets valour raised,
And flaunt where youth and beauty gazed.
No barks embowell'd Portland Isle;
Dig, cried experience, dig away,
Bring the firm quarry into day;
The excavation still shall save
Those ramparts which its entrails gave.
“Here Kings shall dwell,” the builders cried,
“Here England's foes shall lower their pride;
“Hither shall suppliant nobles come,
“And this be England's royal home.”
Vain hope! for on the Gwentian shore
The regal banner streams no more!
Nettles, and vilest weeds that grow,
To mock poor grandeur's head laid low,
13
And flaunt where youth and beauty gazed.
Here fain would strangers loiter long,
And muse as Fancy's woof grows strong;
Yet cold the heart that could complain,
Where Pollett struck his oars again;
For lovely as the sleeping child,
The stream glides on sublimely wild,
In perfect beauty, perfect ease.
—The awning trembled in the breeze,
And scarcely trembled, as we stood
For Ruerdean Spire and Bishop's Wood.
The fair domains of Courtfield made
A paradise of mingled shade
Round Bicknor's tiny church, that cowers
Beneath his host of woodland bowers.
And muse as Fancy's woof grows strong;
Yet cold the heart that could complain,
Where Pollett struck his oars again;
For lovely as the sleeping child,
The stream glides on sublimely wild,
In perfect beauty, perfect ease.
—The awning trembled in the breeze,
And scarcely trembled, as we stood
For Ruerdean Spire and Bishop's Wood.
The fair domains of Courtfield made
A paradise of mingled shade
14
Beneath his host of woodland bowers.
But who the charm of words shall fling
O'er Raven Cliff, and Coldwell Spring,
To brighten the unconscious eye,
And wake the soul to ecstasy?
O'er Raven Cliff, and Coldwell Spring,
To brighten the unconscious eye,
And wake the soul to ecstasy?
Noon scorch'd the fields; the boat lay to;
The dripping oars had nought to do,
Where round us rose a scene that might
Enchant an idiot—glorious sight!
Here, in one gay according mind,
Upon the sparkling stream we dined;
As shepherds free on mountain heath,
Free as the fish that watch'd beneath
For falling crums, where cooling lay
The wine that cheer'd us on our way.
Th' unruffled bosom of the stream
Gave every tint and every gleam;
Gave shadowy rocks, and clear blue sky,
And double clouds of various dye;
Gave dark green woods, or russet brown,
And pendent corn-fields, upside down.
The dripping oars had nought to do,
Where round us rose a scene that might
Enchant an idiot—glorious sight!
Here, in one gay according mind,
Upon the sparkling stream we dined;
As shepherds free on mountain heath,
Free as the fish that watch'd beneath
15
The wine that cheer'd us on our way.
Th' unruffled bosom of the stream
Gave every tint and every gleam;
Gave shadowy rocks, and clear blue sky,
And double clouds of various dye;
Gave dark green woods, or russet brown,
And pendent corn-fields, upside down.
A troop of gleaners changed their shade,
And 'twas a change by music made;
For slowly to the brink they drew,
To mark our joy, and share it too.
How oft, in childhood's flow'ry days,
I've heard the wild impassion'd lays
Of such a group, lays strange and new,
And thought, was ever song so true!
When from the hazel's cool retreat
They watch'd the summer's trembling heat;
And through the boughs rude urchins play'd,
Where matrons, round the laughing maid,
Prest the long grass beneath! And here
Perhaps they shared an equal cheer;
Enjoy'd the feast with equal glee,
And raised the song of revelry:
Yet half abash'd, reserved, and shy,
Watch'd till the strangers glided by.
And 'twas a change by music made;
For slowly to the brink they drew,
To mark our joy, and share it too.
How oft, in childhood's flow'ry days,
I've heard the wild impassion'd lays
Of such a group, lays strange and new,
And thought, was ever song so true!
When from the hazel's cool retreat
They watch'd the summer's trembling heat;
16
Where matrons, round the laughing maid,
Prest the long grass beneath! And here
Perhaps they shared an equal cheer;
Enjoy'd the feast with equal glee,
And raised the song of revelry:
Yet half abash'd, reserved, and shy,
Watch'd till the strangers glided by.
Henry the Seventh gave an irrevocable blow to the dangerous privileges assumed by the barons, in abolishing liveries and retainers, by which every malefactor could shelter himself from the law, on assuming a nobleman's livery, and attending his person. And as a finishing stroke to the feudal tenures, an act was passed, by which the barons and gentlemen of landed interest were at liberty to sell and mortgage their lands, without fines or licences for the alienation.
The ruins of Wilton Castle stand on the opposite side of the river, nearly fronting the town of Ross.
A seat belonging to the family of Vaughan, which is not unnoticed in the pages of history. According to tradition, it is the place where Henry the Fifth was nursed, under the care of the Countess of Salisbury, from which circumstance the original name of Grayfield is said to have been changed to Courtfield .
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |