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44
STANZAS WRITTEN AT SUDELEY CASTLE.
WHERE is thy glory, Sudeley? though thy wall
With stubborn strength the hand of Time defies,
The Sun looks down into thy roofless hall,
And through thy courts with splendor's mockery pries.
Where are thine ancient Lords? the Brave? the Wise?
Crumbled to dust in yonder Gothic Fane.
Where are their children's children? None replies.
Swept from their trunk in Chance's hurricane,
The branches wave no more on Cotswold's old domain.
With stubborn strength the hand of Time defies,
The Sun looks down into thy roofless hall,
And through thy courts with splendor's mockery pries.
Where are thine ancient Lords? the Brave? the Wise?
Crumbled to dust in yonder Gothic Fane.
Where are their children's children? None replies.
Swept from their trunk in Chance's hurricane,
The branches wave no more on Cotswold's old domain.
Yet here the Sons of Chandos, in their day
Of greatness, ruled in no ungentle sort:
Here Want was succour'd; Sorrow here grew gay;
And Winchcombe's Castle was no Tyrant's Fort:
Here too the' imperial Dame with Barons girt,
She who could make the Crowns and Nations bow,
Relax'd, at Welcome's voice, her lion-port,
And soften'd into smiles her stately brow:
What wert thou then, famed Pile! ah, changed! What art thou now?
Of greatness, ruled in no ungentle sort:
Here Want was succour'd; Sorrow here grew gay;
And Winchcombe's Castle was no Tyrant's Fort:
Here too the' imperial Dame with Barons girt,
She who could make the Crowns and Nations bow,
Relax'd, at Welcome's voice, her lion-port,
And soften'd into smiles her stately brow:
What wert thou then, famed Pile! ah, changed! What art thou now?
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