The Legend of St. Loy With Other Poems. By John Abraham Heraud |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
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| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
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| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
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| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXIII. |
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| XXVIII. |
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Conclusion.
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 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
165
Conclusion.
Toteham! the Legend of thine olden day,
To the last note hath on thine echoes died;
But the Bard's soul still lingers o'er the lay,
To muse upon thy transitory pride —
The pride of times that hath been — blank and void —
When all was Nature, big with many a song
Of Chivalry and Fame, with Love allied —
But Time hoth changed the scene — now houses throng
Where once was solitude — and people crowd along.
To the last note hath on thine echoes died;
But the Bard's soul still lingers o'er the lay,
To muse upon thy transitory pride —
The pride of times that hath been — blank and void —
When all was Nature, big with many a song
Of Chivalry and Fame, with Love allied —
But Time hoth changed the scene — now houses throng
Where once was solitude — and people crowd along.
166
Where now thy Wood, that spread its misty shade
O'er twice two hundred acres? — past away!
And vain its Proverb,
as the things that fade,
Earth, sun, moon, stars, that change as they decay!
The lonely Cell, the tenor of the lay,
Its grove, which hermit tendance loved to rear;
And, St. Loy, mouldering to Time's gradual sway,
Thy rites, thy Offertory disappear; —
Forgot thy Spring of Health! no votary worships there!
O'er twice two hundred acres? — past away!
And vain its Proverb,
The proverb — “You shall as easily remove Tottenham “Wood.” — This was used to express things impossible, or not likely to be effected; for if the Wood be removed, which was very great, 400 acres at least, the hill, which is very high and large, must be carried with it, and therefore neither of them might be removed out of their place. This proverb, however, has been rendered nugatory.
Earth, sun, moon, stars, that change as they decay!
The lonely Cell, the tenor of the lay,
Its grove, which hermit tendance loved to rear;
And, St. Loy, mouldering to Time's gradual sway,
Thy rites, thy Offertory disappear; —
Forgot thy Spring of Health! no votary worships there!
Forgot, neglected — still my harp shall dwell
On thee, thou blest Bethesda of St. Loy!
As Fancy muses o'er the vital Well
On years of storied yore, with grief and joy,
Exults they were — weeps Truth should e'er destroy!
Thrice I invoke the Spirit of the Stream
With charm she may not question, or deny,
And, like a Naiad, o'er the watery gleam
She rises to my voice, and answers thus the theme: —
On thee, thou blest Bethesda of St. Loy!
As Fancy muses o'er the vital Well
On years of storied yore, with grief and joy,
Exults they were — weeps Truth should e'er destroy!
Thrice I invoke the Spirit of the Stream
With charm she may not question, or deny,
And, like a Naiad, o'er the watery gleam
She rises to my voice, and answers thus the theme: —
167
“Wild Son of Meditation! Lover wild,
“Of lonely paths, that Fancy may have play,
“Thou reck'st not whither, so by her beguiled,
“Thyself delight in thy created ray!
“Wouldst thou that Truth should yield her heavenly sway,
“And mild civilization be distraught,
“That still the marvellous gloom the barren way?
“Consider Almar — when to sorrow brought,
“Call'st thou the calm he found, the happiness he sought?
“Of lonely paths, that Fancy may have play,
“Thou reck'st not whither, so by her beguiled,
“Thyself delight in thy created ray!
“Wouldst thou that Truth should yield her heavenly sway,
“And mild civilization be distraught,
“That still the marvellous gloom the barren way?
“Consider Almar — when to sorrow brought,
“Call'st thou the calm he found, the happiness he sought?
“Deprived the promises he once pursued,
“Abandoned over to Despair's control,
“Employed in no imaginary good,
“Man's proper bliss, Hope rests as at its goal,
“And idly busy Thought preys on the soul —
“But when the dawn of social Love agen
“Brightened his vision, in its varied roll,
“He hailed his happiness returning then!
“Know, Solitude's for God, Society for Men!”
“Abandoned over to Despair's control,
“Employed in no imaginary good,
“Man's proper bliss, Hope rests as at its goal,
“And idly busy Thought preys on the soul —
“But when the dawn of social Love agen
“Brightened his vision, in its varied roll,
“He hailed his happiness returning then!
“Know, Solitude's for God, Society for Men!”
| The Legend of St. Loy | |