On Beholding Bodiham Castle

On the bank of the Rother in Sussex

O thou, brave ruin of the passed time,
When glorious spirits shone in burning arms.
And the brave trumpet, with its sweet alarms,
Called honour at the matin hour sublime,
And the gray evening; thou hast had thy prime,
And thy full vigour, and the sating harms
Of age have robbed thee of thy warlike charms,
And placed thee here, an image in my rhyme;
The owl now haunts thee, and, oblivious plant,
The creeping ivy, has o'er-veiled thy towers;
And Rother, looking up with eye askant,
Recalling to his mind thy brighter hours.
Laments the time, when, fair and elegant.
Beauty first laughed from out thy joyous bowers!