University of Virginia Library

TO THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY,

ON HER REVISITING BELVOIR CASTLE AFTER A LONG ABSENCE

Thou bad'st me touch the chorded shell,
Thou bad'st the breathing numbers swell,
And I that mandate had obeyed,
Or unreluctantly essayed,
But that with fascinated look
Mine eye had wandered through thy book,
To find 'mongst its enchanted pages
Names—that still shine the stars of ages,
There have I read the magic strains
Of him who o'er young fancy reigns —
She, that his high behest fulfills,
And yields whate'er he asks and wills;
And all her gifts o'er him are shed,
Through all her paths 'tis his to tread,
Her Fairy Kingdoms spread before him,
For him to enrich them and to explore them!
Her treasures opened to his view,
For him to exhaust them—and renew!
He—whose divine imagination
Hath, Ariel-like, searched through Creation!
And borne away its precious things,
Meet freight for those Etherial wings!
Meet tribute too, for such a shrine,
Oh! crowned with many Gifts!—as thine!
Nor yet—his strains alone were there—
Traced on thy pages pure and fair—
The pages of thy precious book,
O'er which with charmed and raptured look
Mine eye had wandered or reposed,
Where endless beauties shone disclosed.—
Other proud children of the Lyre
Had called up all their minstrel fire—
Collected all their fancy's rays
To light those leaves with fitting lays!
Could I then with ambitious aim,
To kindle Inspiration's flame—
Too rashly and too boldly seek
In me, alas! but faint and weak—
And all presumptuously pretend
With theirs my lowly strains to blend!
No! I had thrown aside the lyre
Nor dared to attempt nor sought to aspire—
But one bright theme—but one sweet word
Would thrill through each responsive chord!
Welcome!—Oh! welcome to these walls!—
Welcome to mine Ancestral Halls!
I might not check the cordial flow
Of thoughts that caught sweet Friendship's glow.
And let me on thy mind impress
One Truth, that needs not Fancy's dress—
(That claimeth—chooseth for its own
Truth's artless Eloquence alone!—
Nor scorn the simple lay I weave,
Which only asks thee to believe
The lay, that Truth, doth sole inspire—
Which may not ask thee to admire!)
Though in this renovated Pile,
Which Time forbore not to despoil—
Full many a change thine eye assails,
Till faltering Recognition fails,
Though scarce a stone remains the same,
(Those spared by Time escaped not Flame!)
Though altered all things round may seem
A clueless maze for Memory's dream—
The roof that arched above thy head,
The halls, that echoed to thy tread,
The towers, by stains of centuries dyed,
Whose gothic gloom frowned dark in Pride
Above the sweet and sunny Vale—
That tells a lovelier lighter tale—
The chambers, by thy presence graced,
The terraces, thy light foot traced,
The winding corridors, that wore
The dim stamp of the days of yore—
Though these, remembrance all defy,
And mock the retrospective eye,
Altered, transformed from what they were,
With studied toil, and laboured care—
Or varied from their aspect old,
By dire occurrence unforetold—
Even though thus deeply changed may be
The walls—the halls—that welcome thee—
Oh! never doubt, that unestranged
The hearts that welcome—are unchanged!