Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) By William Barnes |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. | SONNET XVII. THE DESERTED MANSION. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
 | Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) |  |
110
SONNET XVII. THE DESERTED MANSION.
The elms are waving in the nightly squall,
And fallen leaves below them overspread
The mossy pathway, in a rustling bed,
As winds blow hoarsely through the empty hall,
Where once the glitt'ring knight and lady led
The happy train of dancers at the ball.
The weeds are growing o'er the mould'ring wall,
The long-forsaken pride of owners dead;
And fallen leaves below them overspread
The mossy pathway, in a rustling bed,
As winds blow hoarsely through the empty hall,
Where once the glitt'ring knight and lady led
The happy train of dancers at the ball.
The weeds are growing o'er the mould'ring wall,
The long-forsaken pride of owners dead;
Whose hounds no more are heard upon the blast,
All answering the horn's exciting call;
And crackling chariot wheels have ceas'd to roll
All answering the horn's exciting call;
And crackling chariot wheels have ceas'd to roll
Through these forsaken portals, still and fast.
When thus I look on some deserted hall
How soft a sadness steals upon my soul.
When thus I look on some deserted hall
How soft a sadness steals upon my soul.
| Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | |