University of Virginia Library

XXXVIII.

Murmuring far, where vaults unclose,
The melancholy strain arose.
The gallery where Fitzharding stood
Fronted that cloister's northern door:
Not one of heavy carved wood,
With scroll ill-fancied covered o'er;
But that most richly carved and light,
With slender stems and foliage dight,
As 'broidered with true leaf and flower,
And traced with Gothic pointings tall,
And canopied with fretwork small.
Issuing beneath this mitred-arch,
The fathers held their solemn march;
Where the long vista-walk withdrew,
Their taper lights gave them to view,
And played upon the vaulted roof,
And showed each fretted line aloof;

349

There stood the tabernacled Saint,
Blessing the porch. Each corbeil quaint
With it's carved visage, looking down
On all, who passed the arch below,
With smile fantastic, or with frown,
From under helmed, or mitred brow,—
Was graved in light and shade so strong,
Where the gleam waving passed along,
That, as the fleeting shadows roved,
You would have thought the features moved.