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Poems

By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes

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ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE GALLERY.
  
  
  
  
  
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26

ODE WRITTEN IN A PICTURE GALLERY.

1786.
On the dun portrait, duskier in decay,
Slept the silver orb of night;
When in a fleecy cloud the broken light,
Fainting fled. His tresses gray
To the brightening moon he shook,
And, with awaken'd wildness in his look
That on deeds of battle mus'd,
From his majestic brow a sabler shade effus'd.
“Ah! where the worthies of old time, (he sigh'd)
“Where the richly-pictur'd race
“That fronted the long gallery's scutcheon'd grace?
“Where the chief, whose mailed pride
“Near yon pillar erst repos'd;
“Whilst through the lifted beaver he disclos'd
“The Crusader's ardent soul,
“That bade the unhallow'd blood in one wide torrent roll.

27

“What though in ermin'd dignity I view
Glanville's venerable mien?
“Alas, with life's expression dimly seen,
“Clay-cold is the pictur'd hue!
“Pale his consort's gorgeous train:
“Scarce glimmer the faint honours of her chain;
“Tho' but erst the ponderous gold
“Flung its resplendent light across each fluid fold.
“What tho' where proud Godolphin crowns the plain
“Turreted in antique gloom,
“These hoary forms beneath the fretted dome
“Rise, in sweeping robes, again?
“There, unheeded too, they fade,
“Ah! never by the gazing eye survey'd;
“While their pensive shadows fall
“In solitary state along the banner'd hall.

28

“There once, when Chivalry's romantic flame
“Fiercely burnt in warrior breasts,
“The hospitable Baron hail'd his guests,
“Steel-clad by his tissued dame!
“Rich the goblet's golden gleam,
“Their plum'd casques nodding o'er its spiced stream:
“And, as many a deed was sung
“Of valorous enterprize, the roofs high-raft'd rung.
“There echoed to the minstrel-harp divine
“Tales of battling swords that clash'd,
“As all the tournament its glory flash'd
“On the chiefs of Cornish line—
“Tales of Kaliburn, that mow'd
“A million down, where slaughtering Arthur strode;
“Who, tho' strong by magic steel'd,
“Fell a gigantic corse, and shook all Camlan's field!
“There, in heroic song, the adventurous blade,
“Storming the dim castle, broke
“The wizard spell, and, at the massy stroke,
“Rescued the long-prison'd maid!

29

“There, impetuous, from the van
“The red-cross knight along the ramparts ran;
“And, distain'd with paynim gore,
“From Salem's battlements the sacred trophies tore.
“Such themes, familiar to Godolphin's walls,
“Midst the Baron's festal cheer,
“Fill'd, when the deeds of warlike worth were dear,
“All Cornubia's castle-halls!
“Buried with the mighty dead,
“From human eye the bardic fires are fled:
“Hers'd I saw Lanhydroc's lord!
“There Chivalry last hail'd the high baronial board.
“To prop yon desolated arch were vain,
“Mouldering by the moated streams!
“The unvaulted gate-way thro' its ivy gleams;
“As athwart the Gothic fane
“Yonder wildly-rifted yew,
“That o'er the cloyster its broad branches threw,
“Darksome in the days of yore,
“The wreck of each rude storm still echoes in the roar.

30

“Perish'd are all the triumphs of romance!
“Yet, along the drear walls dank,
“The dinted target's and riv'n corslet's clank
“Tell of many a bloody lance;
“Where, Restormal's rampires round,
“To the rough fragment's mass the hills resound;
“Where Dunheved, frowning deep,
“Slopes its embattled towers with necromantic sweep.”
He ceas'd: and kindling fearful to the view—
Rapid as the lightning's ray,
A spectre on the moon-beam glanc'd away!
Sudden his blank visage grew
Paler than the stiffen'd dead!
(Each column shivering as the spectre fled)
And, the shade of mortal mould,
Dim was his feeble form, his sombre eye was cold.