 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
257
Though almost Twenty Years.
1837.
[_]
[On the death of Mrs. Roddam of Roddam. She was one of those beings described by Moore, as
------“too lovely to remain.
Creatures of light we never see again!”]
Creatures of light we never see again!”]
Though almost twenty years have passed
Since I in Roddam “loved and sung”—
Though fame attends the lyre at last
That first amid her woodlands rung—
My heart and soul are still the same;
No scene of hers can I forget;
In spite of distance, time, and fame,
My sweetest thoughts are Roddam's yet!
Since I in Roddam “loved and sung”—
Though fame attends the lyre at last
That first amid her woodlands rung—
My heart and soul are still the same;
No scene of hers can I forget;
In spite of distance, time, and fame,
My sweetest thoughts are Roddam's yet!
Where winds a glen and purls a rill,
To her my fancy back they take;
Where frowns a crag and towers a hill,
I love them for old Cheviot's sake!
The birds I hear, the flowers I see,
Have charms that not to them belong—
These speak of Roddam's bloom to me,
And those of Roddam's woodland song!
To her my fancy back they take;
Where frowns a crag and towers a hill,
I love them for old Cheviot's sake!
The birds I hear, the flowers I see,
Have charms that not to them belong—
These speak of Roddam's bloom to me,
And those of Roddam's woodland song!
Alas, alas, for Roddam now!
Alas for Roddam's lord the most!
Of shadowy brake and sunny brow
The brightest, dearest charm is lost!
Low is the Lady of the Hall,
Whom I beheld so lately there,
The loveliest and the best of all
That ever graced the scenery fair!
Alas for Roddam's lord the most!
Of shadowy brake and sunny brow
The brightest, dearest charm is lost!
258
Whom I beheld so lately there,
The loveliest and the best of all
That ever graced the scenery fair!
I gazed, and thought—for poets build
Most gorgeous castles on the cloud,
And with the rays of Fancy gild
Triumphal arch and turret proud—
I thought how she, with kind regard,
Might give old hopes again to bloom,
Might patronise her House's Bard:
She sleeps within her House's Tomb!
Most gorgeous castles on the cloud,
And with the rays of Fancy gild
Triumphal arch and turret proud—
I thought how she, with kind regard,
Might give old hopes again to bloom,
Might patronise her House's Bard:
She sleeps within her House's Tomb!
Green o'er that Tomb already grow
The laurels due to valiant deed;
A gentler wreath we mingle now
As Beauty's and as Virtue's meed.
We bring each bloom from Roddam Dell
That scents its depth, or gems its verge,
And bid the Lyre of Roddam swell
To ring the Flower of Roddam's dirge
The laurels due to valiant deed;
A gentler wreath we mingle now
As Beauty's and as Virtue's meed.
We bring each bloom from Roddam Dell
That scents its depth, or gems its verge,
And bid the Lyre of Roddam swell
To ring the Flower of Roddam's dirge
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