University of Virginia Library


80

AMBERLEY CASTLE.

The enormous hills run smoothly down
In fold on fold of shaven green,
And in the gap a little town
Sleeps, and a river slips between.
It bubbled from a heathery hill
And channelled through the grey ribbed sand,
And now slides seaward dark and still
Thro' hazy leagues of level land.
A stone's throw from its fringing sedge
Grey mouldering walls to ruin slip,
And from the turret's ragged edge,
The brimming ivy seems to drip.
Where once the guardian pool was deep,
The moorhen flaps among the reeds,
And broadbacked waterlilies sleep
Anchored amid the shifting weeds.
There where the green turf laps the walls,
Slow oxen graze, shrill children play,
And when the kindly summer falls,
Swart sun-browned rustics toss the hay.
A farmstead steams where hung the door
Whence smiling gallants paced the hall—
Where roysterers drank and soldiers swore
The merry cottage-children call.

81

Here where the old priest day by day,
Saw sunrise thro' his blazoned panes,
Between tall stacks of scented hay,
A grumbling ciderpress complains.
Look o'er the ill-swung gate and see
The black swine rout the streaming soil,
And piled or strewn neglectfully
The sordid furniture of toil.
The king that smiled so royally
Around him, and the sweet sad queen,
The restless children round her knee,
Are all as they had never been.
Dark in their oozy bed to-night
They slumber: all about their bones
The ivy casts his fingers white
Whose fibres know the place of stones.
Think of the aching hearts, the sighs
This old house heard, which stands so still,
And all the million memories
That haunt the hollows of the hill.
Think of the eyes that must have stared
From those blank windows, on the same
Grey misty flats through which we fared
We twain, and doubted of their name.

82

O'er grassy mound and marble rim
Where one dead friend's poor vestment lies,
The sudden tears unwitting brim
Decorous lashes, downdropt eyes.
Or one dear brother whom we miss—
We mount with reverent step above,
This was his room, we say, and this
The picture that he used to love.
In these walls too young hope was high,
And love was glorious then as now—
Shall we behold, and pass them by,
Nor write one sorrow on our brow?
Shall we not spare one tear to-day
And pray one prayer in order due?
Here is a human heart, we'll say,
That beats as yours, and thinks of you.
Amberley, 1883. (Cornhill Magazine).