ONE hour we rumble on the rail, One half-hour guide the rein, We reach at last, o'er hill and dale, The village on the plain. With blackening wall and mossy roof, With stained and warping floor, A stately mansion stands aloof, And bars its haughty door. This lowlier portal may be tried, That breaks the gable wall; And lo! with arches opening wide, Sir Harry Frankland's hall! 'T was in the second George's day They sought the forest shade, The knotted trunks they cleared away, The massive beams they laid, They piled the rock-hewn chimney tall, They smoothed the terraced ground, They reared the marble-pillared wall That fenced the mansion round. Far stretched beyond the village bound The Master's broad domain; With page and valet, horse and hound, He kept a goodly train. And, all the midland county through, The ploughman stopped to gaze Whene'er his chariot swept in view Behind the shining bays, With mute obeisance, grave and slow, Repaid by nod polite, -- For such the way with high and low Till after Concord fight. I tell you, as my tale began, The Hall is standing still; And you, kind listener, maid or man, May see it if you will. The box is glistening huge and green, Like trees the lilacs grow, Three elms high-arching still are seen, And one lies stretched below. The hangings, rough with velvet flowers, Flap on the latticed wall; And o'er the mossy ridge-pole towers The rock-hewn chimney tall. Thus Agnes won her noble name, Her lawless lover's hand; The lowly maiden so became A lady in the land! The tale is done; it little needs To track their after ways, And string again the golden beads Of love's uncounted days. They leave the fair ancestral isle For bleak New England's shore; How gracious is the courtly smile Of all who frowned before! Again through Lisbon's orange bowers They watch the river's gleam, And shudder as her shadowy towers Shake in the trembling stream. Fate parts at length the fondest pair; His cheek, alas! grows pale; The breast that trampling death could spare His noiseless shafts assail. He longs to change the heaven of blue For England's clouded sky, -- To breathe the air his boyhood knew; He seeks them but to die. The doors on mighty hinges clash With massive bolt and bar, The heavy English-moulded sash Scarce can the night-winds jar. A graded terrace yet remains; If on its turf you stand And look along the wooded plains That stretch on either hand, The broken forest walls define A dim, receding view, Where, on the far horizon's line, He cut his vista through. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXILE TO HIS WIFE by JOSEPH BRENAN THE BELL by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 47 by PHILIP SIDNEY SONNET (2) by JOACHIM DU BELLAY THE OLD VAGABOND by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER PIONEERS OF DETROIT by LEVI BISHOP ON THE DEATH OF REV. LEVI PARSONS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD CLEVEDON VERSES: 8. THE BRISTOL CHANNEL by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |