86
'Twas near that pile in ages fled,
That warrior's fought, and heroes bled;
While crimson banners wav'd on high,
In all the pomp of victory.
Alas! the lone deserted wall,
A mournful ruin now appears;
Yet still majestic in its fall,
Tho' mouldered by consuming years.
Beside the long-forsaken towers,
O'ergrown with ivy and with flowers,
There at the close of evening gray,
The wandering moralist might stray;
With pensive pleasure there to gaze,
On all the grandeur of the pile;
To meditate on former days,
And muse on fortune's transient smile.
And by those arches long decay'd,
In faded beauty still display'd,
There might the lonely poet hail,
The rural prospect of the vale,
And those by charms of nature fir'd,
May rove amidst this Cambrian scene;
In mossy dells, or groves retir'd,
Beside the lawns of brightest green.
