Poems (Acton)/On an Ancient Oak Room in Warwickshire
ON AN ANCIENT OAK ROOM IN WARWICKSHIRE, FORMERLY THE RESIDENCE OF ROBERT, EARL OF LEICESTER.
Relic of ancient splendour, Remnant of olden pride,Spells rest thee round, lest aught of ill Thy pillared walls betide.
Many an eye hath marked thee, Now closed in death's long sleep;Gay hearts have ceased their laughter, The sad have ceased to weep.
All, all hath changed around thee, But thou'rt unaltered yet;And long must time pass o'er thee Ere thy beauty we forget.
Hast thou no gentle legend Of courtly dame and knight,Whose joyous voices, long since hushed, Have filled thee with delight?
Thou bearest on thy portal The symbol of a name,Whispered with strange misgiving; Deathless in crime-wrought fame.
Say, hath no gentle being Passed o'er thy polished floor,With sigh of bitter meaning, Lip that would smile no more?
Say, hath no weary watcher Rested thy casement near;Marking the Leicester's absence, By many a blighting tear?
Surely thou canst not tell us, Thou hast looked down at last,On scenes as dark as story Hath brought us from the past!
For we would gaze around thee, And picture hearts of mirth,And fancy they are laid to sleep, Watched by their parent earth.
Rather than know thy fame to be Such scene of terror wild;The tomb of ev'ry cherished hope Raised by earth's fairest child!
Oh! noble spot! Long o'er thee Be cast a magic spell!Kind fairies tread thee lightly, And guard thy beauty well!
Still, still endure to gladden The hearts within thee now,And cast a gleam of pleasure Upon thine owner's brow!
Still be to them a relic Of a calm and happy past;The brightness of its sunny hours, Recalling to the last!R. A.