Gaze, maiden, gaze on Dupath Well. Robert Stephen Hawker. Durham. DURHAM. THIS city is celebrated In the whole empire of the Britons. It is surrounded with rocks, And there grow There live in the recesses Wild animals of many sorts; Deer innumerable. There is in this city Also well known to men The venerable St. Cudberth; The noble associates. And the celebrated writer Bede; By whom the chaste Cudberth Was in his youth gratis instructed ; In the inner part of the Minster, Which perform many miracles, And which await with them The judgment of the Lord. THE AISLE OF TOMBS. Anglo-Saxon Poem. THE interior of Chester-le-Street Church, Durham, contains a singular collection of monuments, bearing effigies of the deceased anecstry of the Lumley family, from the time of Liulphus to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. THE quiet and the chillness Of the aisle of tombs; The shadow and the stillness A rosy light illumes : Like the memory of the past, On the carvéd arms delaying, On the marble pall O'er the blood-red scutcheon playing With a crimson fall, Into sudden sunshine cast Are the ancient warriors, The warriors of olden time. So with kindled heart we love them, So doth memory fling above them Noblest shadow flung on earth: We remember many a story 'T was a glorious age gave birth The warriors of olden time. Though the sword no more be trusted Though the shining spear be rusted They have left their fame behind; Still a spirit from their slumbers Rises true and brave, Asks the minstrel for his numbers, Noble, gentle, valiant, kind, Were the ancient warriors, The warriors of olden time. All their meaner part hath perished, And the present hour hath cherished What a knight should be we keep. The warriors of olden time. Anonymous. Eden, the River. THE RIVER EDEN, CUMBERLAND. DEN! till now thy beauty had I viewed EDEN! By glimpses only, and confess with shame That verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, Repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name: Yet fetched from Paradise that honor came, William Wordsworth. THE MONUMENT, COMMONLY CALLED LONG MEG AND HER DAUGHTERS, NEAR THE RIVER EDEN. A WEIGHT of awe, not easy to be borne, Fell suddenly upon my spirit, — cast From the dread bosom of the unknown past, Speak thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn power of years, — pre-eminent, and placed Apart, to overlook the circle vast, Speak, giant-mother! tell it to the Morn While she dispels the cumbrous shades of night; Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite, William Wordsworth. |