University of Virginia Library

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150

Ballade Dedicatory

To Mrs. Charles Elton, of Whitestaunton

The painted Briton built his mound,
And left his celts and clay,
On yon fair slope of sunlit ground
That fronts your garden gay;
The Roman came, he bore the sway,
He bullied, bought, and sold—
Your fountain sweeps his works away
Beside your manor old!

But still his crumbling urns are found
Within the window-bay,
Where once he listened to the sound
That lulls you day by day;—
The sound of summer winds at play,
The noise of waters cold
To Yarty wandering on their way,
Beside your manor old!

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151

The Roman fell: his firm-set bound
Became the Saxon's stay;
The bells made music all around
For monks in cloisters gray;
Till fled the monks in disarray
From their warm chantry's fold;
Old Abbots slumber as they may,
Beside your manor old!