Elegy On Newstead Abbey
by George Gordon, Lord Byron
(From Hours of Idleness - 1807)
1
- Newstead! fast-falling, once-resplendent dome!
- Religions shrine! repentant HENRYs pride!
- Of warriors, monks, and dames the cloisterd tomb,
- Whose pensive shades around thy ruins glide,
2
- Hail to thy pile! more honourd in thy fall
- Than modern mansions in their pillard state;
- Proudly majestic frowns thy vaulted hall,
- Scowling defiance on the blasts of fate.
3
- No mail-clad serfs, obedient to their lord,
- In grim array the crimson cross demand;
- Or gay assemble round the festive board
- Their chiefs retainers, an immortal band:
4
- Else might inspiting Fancys magic eye
- Retrace their progress through the lapse of time,
- Marking each ardent youth, ordalnd to die,
- A votive pilgrim in Judeas clime.
5
- But not from thee, dark pile! departs the chief;
- His feudal realm in other regions lay:
- In thee the wounded conscience courts relief,
- Retiring from the garish blare of day.
6
- Yes! in thy gloomy cells and shades profound
- The monk abjured a world he neer could view;
- Or blood-staind guilt repenting solace found,
- Or innocence from stern oppression flew.
7
- A monarch bade thee from that wild arise,
- Where Sherwoods outlaws once were wont to prowl;
- And Superstitions crimes, of various dyes,
- Sought shelter in the priests protecting cowl.
8
- Where now the grass exhales a murky dew,
- The humid pail of life-extinguishd clay,
- In sainted fame the sacred fathers grew,
- Nor raised their pious voices but to pray.
9
- Where now the bats their wavering wings extend
- Soon as the gloaming spreads her waning shade,
- The choir did oft their mingling vespers blend,
- Or matin orisons to Mary pald.
10
- Years roll on years; to ages, ages yield;
- Abbots to abbots, in a line, succeed;
- Religions charter their protecting shield,
- Till royal sacrilege their doom decreed,
11
- One holy HENRY reard the Gothic walls,
- And bade the pious inmates rest in peace
- Another HENRY the kind gift recalls,
- And bids devotions hallowd echos cease.
12
- Vain is each threat or supplicating prayer;
- He drives them exiles from their blest abode,
- To roam a dreary world in deep despair
- No friend, no home, no refuge, but their God.
13
- Hark how the hall, resounding to the strain
- Shakes with the martial musics novel din!
- The heralds of a warriors haughty reign,
- High crested banners wave thy wails within.
14
- Of changing sentinels the distant hum,
- The mirth of feasts, the clang of burnishd arms,
- The braying trumpet and the hoarser drum,
- Unite in concert with increased alarms.
15
- An abbey once, a regal fortress now,
- Encircled by insulting rebel powers,
- Wars dread machines oerhang thy threatning brow,
- And dart destruction in sulphureous showers.
16
- Ah vain defence! the hostile traitors siege,
- Though oft repulsed, by guile oer-comes the brave;
- His thronging foes oppress the faithful liege,
- Rebellions reeking standards oer him wave.
17
- Not unavenged the raging baron yields;
- The blood of traitors smears the purple plain
- Unconqurd still, his falchion there he wields,
- And days of glory yet for him remain.
18
- Still in that hour the warrior wishd to strew
- Self-gatherd laurel on a self-sought grave;
- But Charles protecting genius hither flew,
- The monarchs friend, the monarchs hope, to save.
19
- Trembling, she snatchd him ftom th unequal strife,
- In other fields the torrent to repel;
- For nobler combats, here reservedhis life,
- To lead the hand where godlike FALKLAND fell
20
- From thee, poor pile! to lawless plunder given,
- While dying groans their painful requiem sound,
- Far different incense now ascends to heaven,
- Such victims wallow on the gory ground.
21
- There many a pale and ruthless robbers corse,
- Noisome and ghast, defiles thy sacred sod;
- Oer mingling man, and horse commixd with horse,
- Corruptions heap, the savage spoilers trod.
22
- Graves, long with rank and sighing weeds oerspread,
- Ransackd, resign perforce their mortal mould:
- From ruffian fangs escape not een the dead,
- Raked from repose in search of buried gold.
23
- Hushd is the harp, unstrung the warlike lyre
- The minstrels palsied hand reclines in death;
- No more he strikes the quivering chords with fire,
- Or sings the glories of the martial wreath.
24
- At length the sated murderers, gorged with prey,
- Retire: the clamour of the fight is oer;
- Silence again resumes her awful sway,
- And sable Horror guards the massy door.
25
- Here Desolation holds her dreary court:
- What satellites declare her dismal reign!
- Shrieking their dirge, ill-omend birds resort,
- To flit their vigils in the hoary fane.
26
- Soon a new morns restoring beams dispel
- The clouds of anarchy from Britains skies;
- The fierce usurper seeks his native hell,
- And Nature triumphs as the tyrant dies.
27
- With storms she welcornes his expiring groans
- Whirlwinds, responsive, greet his labouring breath;
- Earth shudders as her caves receive his bones,
- Loathing the offering of so dark a death.
28
- The legal ruler now resumes the helm,
- He guides through gentle seas the prow of state
- Hope cheers, with wonted smiles, the peaceful realm,
- And heals the bleeding wounds of wearied hate.
29
- The gloomy tenants, Newstead! of thy cells,
- Howling, resign their violated nest;
- Again the master on his tenure dwells,
- Enjoyd, from absence, with enraptured zest.
30
- Vassals, within thy hospitable pale,
- Loudly carousing, bless their lords return.
- Culture again adorns the gladdening vale,
- And matrons, once lamenting, cease to mourn.
31
- A thousand songs on tuneful echo float,
- Unwonted foliage mantles oer the trees;
- And hark! the horns proclalm a mellow note,
- The hunters cry hangs lengthening on the breeze.
32
- Beneath their coursers hoofs the valleys shake:
- What fears, what anxious hopes attend the chase!
- The dying stag seeks refuge in the lake;
- Exulting shouts announce the finishd race.
33
- Ah happy days! too happy to endure!
- Such simple sports our plain forefathers knew
- No splendid vices glitterd to allure;
- Their joys were many, as their cares were few.
34
- From these descending, sons to sires succeed
- Time steals along, and Death uprears the dart;
- Another chief impels the foaming steed,
- Another crowd pursue the panting hart.
35
- Newstead! what saddening change of scene is thine!
- Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay;
- The last and youngest of a noble line
- Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.
36
- Deserted now, he scans thy gray worn towers;
- Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep;
- Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers
- These, these he views, and views them but to weep.
37
- Yet are his tears no emblem of regret:
- Cherishd affection only bids them flow.
- Pride, hope, and love forbid him to forget
- But warm his bosom with irnpassiond glow.
38
- Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes
- Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great,
- Yet lingers mid thy damp and mossy tombs,
- Nor breathes a murmur gainst the will of fate.
39
- Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine,
- Thee to irradiate with meridian ray;
- Hours splendid as the past may still be thine,
- And bless thy future as thy former day.
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