Craven Blossoms or, Poems chiefly connected with the district of Craven. By Robert Storey |
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| XXIV. | XXIV. |
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 | Craven Blossoms |  |
XXIV.
Beside a small green knoll they stood,Washed by a brooklet's falling flood,
Around by many a wild shrub clomb,
And decked by many a flower, whose home
—Away from crowded town—is still
In the sweet glen and heathy hill.
A spot retired, but widely known;
To every wandering tourist shown,
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To view the wondrous Cove and Scar.
The peasant, skilled in fairy lore,
Will tell of revels here of yore
—Ere yet the Gospel's holy light
Dispelled the shades of Pagan night—
By elves that love the wold and wave;
And hence he names it Gennet's Cave.
For Cave there is of ample room
In that green hillock's rocky womb;
Its entrance bare, polluted now—
But then so veiled by furze and bough,
The boldest guess would scarcely dare
To say that such existed there.
—The Outlaw, stooping, tore aside
The woodbine-twigs, in blossomed pride;
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The Lady enter undismayed.
One glance she gave the flashing sky,
A second searched the Outlaw's eye—
Of purpose ill was nought to speak,
Calm was his glance, and calm his cheek;
And Margaret entered, glad to gain
A shelter from the fire and rain.
| Craven Blossoms | |