Aldham! the wall-flower’s scented bloom

Aldham! the wall-flower’s scented bloom Gleams lovely on thy turrets grey, And, like the rose strewn on a tomb, A fragrance sheds around decay. No more before thy gates is heard The herald’s trump; thy stable-yard Is empty now, and netted o’er With weeds, and hingeless stands each door; No harps are murmuring in the hall; No armour glittering on the wall; For gone are knight and seneschal,— The voice of man is dumb! And nought but ghosts, so gaunt and tall, At dreary midnight come, Denouncing vengeance on the spade That gave to levelling Time its aid; For Aldham church is gone! Nor bust nor cipher left to show, Where death has laid the mighty low. Time does not spare the mundic urn, The ruthless ploughshare robs the worm, O man to fortune blind! Despite what power and art devised, The saint whom nations canonized Is scatter’d by the wind. But let me leave this darker scene, And seaward hold my course again, While brighter scenes before me rise, Where yon high rock in grandeur lies.