The South Transept: The Epistle and Gospel XXVII

The archers sore have griev'd thee ; — wilt thou flee,
And leave us ? so hereafter, hither bent,
Some pensive traveller may return, and see
All that remains, a mantle rudely rent,
Or weep beside a mouldering monument.
I saw an aged pile, calm in decay,
Which, where the Wye his mountain windings went,
Look'd from its ivy mantle, stern and grey,
While little birds sang thro' their summer holiday ;