What though fell Time leaves here and there a heap, Where long ago stood a frequented fane: As some exploit transforms a nameless plain— Where Industry her waving fields did reap— Into a storied place where strong men weep; So that dear mound,—within Saint Mary's aisle, The fortune-favoured remnant of this pile— From dull forgetfulness this shrine shall keep. And while the Eildon Hills their brows make bare, And his loved Tweed its plaintive lay is singing; While on this altar-site men breathe a prayer, Or to these stones their hearts like vines are clinging,— Though its own voices have been silent long, To God this roofless fane shall still belong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CRADLE SONG, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BLOSSOM, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE DISDAIN RETURNED by THOMAS CAREW EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE CASTLE OF CHILLON by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON WIDOW MALONE by CHARLES JAMES LEVER THE ROPEWALK by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |