And thither, when the summer-days were long, Sir Walter journeyed with his Paramour; And with the Dancers and the Minstrel's song Made merriment within that pleasant Bower. The Knight, Sir Walter, died in course of time, PART SECOND The moving accident is not my trade: To freeze the blood I have no ready arts: 'Tis my delight, alone in summer shade, To pipe a simple song to thinking hearts. As I from Hawes to Richmond did repair, What this imported I could ill divine : I saw three Pillars standing in a line, The last Stone Pillar on a dark hill-top. The trees were gray, with neither arms nor head; I looked upon the hills both far and near, I stood in various thoughts and fancies lost, When one, who was in Shepherd's garb attired, up the Hollow. Him did I accost, Came And what this place might be I then inquired. The Shepherd stopped, and that same story told You see these lifeless Stumps of aspen wood Some say that they are beeches, others elms These were the Bower; and here a Mansion stood, The finest palace of a hundred realms! The Arbour does its own condition tell; You see the Stones, the Fountain, and the Stream, But as to the great Lodge! you might as well Hunt half a day for a forgotten dream. There's neither dog nor heifer, horse nor sheep, Some say that here a murder has been done, What thoughts must through the creature's brain have passed! From the stone upon the summit of the steep Are but three bounds-and look, Sir, at this last -O Master! it has been a cruel leap. For thirteen hours he ran a desperate race; What cause the Hart might have to love this place, Here on the grass perhaps asleep he sank, In April here beneath the scented thorn |