BENEATH, Tweed murmur'd 'mid the forests green: And through thy beech-tree and laburnum boughs, A solemn ruin, lovely in repose, Dryburgh! thine ivy'd walls were greyly seen: Thy court is now a garden, where the flowers Expand in silent beauty, and the bird, Flitting from arch to arch, alone is heard To cheer with song the melancholy bowers. Yet did a solemn pleasure fill the soul, As through thy shadowy cloistral cells we trode, To think, hoar pile! that once thou wert the abode Of men, who could to solitude control Their hopes—yea! from Ambition's pathways stole, To give their whole lives blamelessly to God! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A POEM FOR MAX NORDAU by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH TIME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS MEMORIAL DAY by WILLIAM E. BROOKS WHAT THE BULLET SANG by FRANCIS BRET HARTE SLEEPING BEAUTY by LOUISE VICTORINE ACKERMANN |