I see the bright sun's glorious rays
Thine eastern oriel light'ning,
Where saints and martyrs by its blaze
In rainbow hues are bright'ning.
Nor thus to fancy's eye alone
Thine earlier glories glisten ;-
Her ear can dwell on many a tone
To which 'tis sweet to listen.
Methinks I hear the matin song
From those proud arches pealing ; Now loud and clear,-now borne along On echo softly stealing.
And yet, however grand the scene
My thoughts have been pourtraying,
To me more touching far, I
What now I am surveying.
More touching, at this moonlight hour,
Art thou in desolation,
Than in thy once resplendent power
Of earlier decoration.
More softly beautiful, by far,
Thy silent ruins, sleeping
In silvery moonshine,-with that star
Through yonder proud arch peeping.
How lovely seems that wall-flower fringe,
Which crests thy turrets hoary,
Touch'd by the moonbeams with a tinge
Of long-departed glory.
How sweetly looks that fleecy cloud
Upon yon tall tower resting;
Contrasted with the ivy shroud
Its lofty height investing.
How spirit-soothing is the sound
Of night-winds, softly sighing
Through roofless walls and arches round,-
And then in silence dying.
Oh! let thy charms be what they would,
When first thy towers were planted,
A nobler still, in thought's best mood,
Is to thy ruins granted.
Landguard Fort stands upon a point of land two miles from the Cliff at Felixstow, at the south-east corner of the county of Suffolk; and has the appearance, at high-water, of being surrounded by the sea. A pretty little vignette view of it is given in Raw's Pocket Book, for 1824.
IN boyhood it was mine, by chance,
'Mid thy embattled walls to stray;
When all that met my eager glance
Heighten'd a school-boy's holiday:
The sun shone bright, the scene was gay,
Array'd in Fancy's glowing hue;
And well the summer billows' play
Suited the heaven's o'er-arching blue.
If engines of destruction round
A sadder thought, or sigh might raise,
That transient feeling soon was drown'd,
That shade dispell'd-by Glory's rays;
False Glory, whose delusive blaze
Bewilders childhood's thoughtless eye,
And makes it e'en with rapture gaze
On what should wake its sympathy.
Thus much that might awaken feeling
Which now would qualify delight,
Then only to the eye appealing
But gratified my roving sight:
Boy-like, I fancied then-how bright
Must gleam the banner of the brave,
How the proud thunders of the fight
Would echo o'er the buoyant wave.
Then-had imagination rear'd
Her airy edifice,-I ween
Phantoms by chivalry endear'd
Had beautified thy barren scene;
And on the marge of ocean green
Thou wouldst have shone in feudal pride,
While all thine inmates, too, had been
With gallant deeds of arms allied.
But should I seek thy fortress now—
That Time, with his relentless hand,
Has tam'd my thoughts, and touch'd my brow ;-
These idle dreams, by Fancy plann'd,
No more would decorate thy strand ;-
They were but like the forms we trace
At ebb of tide upon the sand,
Which soon returning waves efface.
For it has been my lot to know,
Since I thus idly look'd on thee,
Full many an ebb, and many a flow
Of Time's for ever restless sea,
Whose morning sunshine used to be
So beautifully bright of yore,
Where now the mists of eve-to me,
Seem slowly, darkly gath'ring o'er.
But morning's beams were not more bright
Than evening's mists may be serene;
Nor e'en their darkness should affright,
If, while it sheds its shadowy screen
On busy Life's concluding scene,
Some glimm'rings of eternal day
Through parting clouds may intervene,
To chase their sadder gloom away.
This is the last, most glorious hope,
And triumph of immortal mind;
And he who gives its influence scope,
Whate'er his lot on earth assign'd,
Whether neglected by mankind,
Or prais'd, the idol of an hour,
May, in his aspirations, find
The meed of intellectual power!
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