Seat of the Duke of Rutland
Inscribed to Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley
Tis an old and stately castle,
In an old and stately wood;
Thoughts and shadows gather'd round it,
Of the ages it had stood.
But not of the ancient warriors,
Whose red banners swept its towers,
Nor of any lovely lady,
Blooming in it s former bowers—
Think I now;—but one as lovely,
And more gifted, haunts my line.
In the visions round yon castle
Is no fairer one than thine!
I can fancy thee in childhood
Wandering through each haunted scene,
Peopling the green glades around thee
With the thoughts of what had been;
Asking of each leaf its lesson,
Of each midnight star its tale,
Till thy fancy caught revealings
From the music of the gale.
Yet, whence did thy lute inherit
All it knows of human grief?—
What dost thou know of the knowledge
On life's dark and daily leaf?
In thy woman-hearted pages,
How much sympathy appears
With the sorrowful and real,
All that only speaks in tears!
Have those large bright eyes been darken'd
By the shadows from below!
Rather would I deem thee dreaming
Over grief thou canst not know.
But thou hast the poet's birthright,
In a heart too warm and true.
Wreath thy dark hair with the laurel—
On it rests the midnight dew!