This lonely garden more than half-way round Hath a sea-wall; and then a Time-filled moat— The Fort's sole remnant now—doth else denote How 'tis marked off from all the common ground; And here and there in knee-deep grass are found Prone slabs that speak of prowess in the past, O'er which unheeding feet do trample fast— Deaf to the message of each mould'ring mound. I sit, and varied voices make me start: Glad lovers listening to the lapping tide; The team-song of the swain on yonder lea; Children at play who are their parents' pride; And that sweet bell—echoes of Liberty From out these graves in this old garden's heart! |