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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IN TROQUEER CHURCHYARD, by WILLIAM MCDOWALL Poet's Biography First Line: Hail, hoary ash! Whose hallow'd shade Last Line: And claim the imperishable crown. Subject(s): Churches; Cathedrals | |||
HAIL, hoary Ash! whose hallow'd shade O'er-canopies the slumbering dead, And casts congenial gloom around The precincts of this holy ground! Now age amongst thy leaves has crept, And from thy form its freshness stript; Time on thy trunk his hand has laid, And, pointing to the tombs, has said -- "Ere long to death thy head must bow, And thou shalt be as these below; Thy youth -- thy prime -- thy autumn past -- Be levell'd with the earth at last." But though life's close be thus reveal'd, Strength still remains its germ to shield -- Strength to sustain the tempest's shock, And long its fiercest fury mock, To keep thee pillar'd on the plain, Life's emblem in the grave's domain, Whilst marking, 'neath thy foliage shrin'd, The sons of men to dust consign'd. There, where thy farthest boughs extend, His relics rest, who call'd me friend. Shed o'er him, Tree, one wither'd leaf, And share and mitigate my grief. Here Beauty's final couch is made, Her flowery diadem decay'd; Oh, cruel death! that needs must fare Upon such dainties choice and rare. Here, in his tent, the soldier tried, Who ne'er from foeman turn'd aside; If courage with the grave could vie, Thou wouldst not thus inglorious lie. This tablet speaks a son of fame, That consecrates a lowlier name; For here, around, the rich and great With humble beggars congregate, Bed-fellows all -- a motley throng, Yet sound their dreamless sleep, and long; They slumber peaceful, side by side, 'Neath stoneless turf, or pile of pride; And pomp would scarce her children know In the vast commonwealth below! Whilst thou, old tree, o'er all look'st down, As if thou wor'st a kingly crown, And these, so lowly at thy feet, Were prostrate slaves thy rank to greet: Creation's lords they claim'd to be; Vain title! since the grey ash tree, Once scorn'd, perchance, in triumph waves His budding sceptre o'er their graves. Rejoice, old Monarch, whilst thou may! Thy term of triumph speeds away; These sever'd leaves, with dirge-like call, But ante-date their parent's fall; And tell, what thou wouldst fain mistrust, That trees, as well as men, are dust. Alas, for thee! once downward cast, Thy proud pre-eminence is past. Alas for thee! once swept from view, No summer shall thy strength renew -- A prisoner in oblivion's womb, Heir of no second birth or bloom, How are thy sylvan honours shed, Thy garniture and glory fled! The tones which earth's foundation shake, And bid the sentient clay awake, Which break corruption's bands of might, Shall never on thy chains alight, Nor vivifying force impart, For unredeemed dust thou art. But those who sleep beneath thy shade, Shall hear and heed the summons made; And on thy conqueror, Death, look down, And claim the imperishable crown. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIRGIN IN GLASS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE HOUR BETWEEN DOG AND WOLF: 3. FEEDING THE RABBITS by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN DOMESDAY BOOK: FATHER WHIMSETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HALF-AND-HALF by NAOMI SHIHAB NYE AT THE CHURCH DOOR by GEORGE SANTAYANA AULD DUMFRIES, FAIR DUMFRIES by WILLIAM MCDOWALL |
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