English poem
Tintern Abbey
by Edward Jerningham (1737–1812)
Mark this lone seat, by Contemplation plann'd, This awful relick of monastic day: Beneath the touch of Time's reluctant hand Slow mould'ring in the silence of decay.
Nature her shelt'ring moss around has thrown, As if in pity of the fading pile, And ev'n to cheer what sorrow calls her own On ruin's brow has bid her flow'rets smile.
The rifted arch from all connection starts, The prostrate pillars stretch along the vale, Yet mid the wreck of corresponding parts, 'One column stands to tell the mournful tale.'
More by Edward Jerningham
- The Speech of the High-priest, at the Pile
- The Strawberries
- The Swedish Curate
- The Venetian Marriage
- To
- To a Lady, Who Lamented She Could Not Sing
- To Lady Catharine Murray, During Her Recovery from an Illness, Occasioned by Her Cloaths Catching Fire, 1781
- To the Baron Nolcken, the Swedish Ambassador, on His Sudden Recall