KENDAL.
Kendal, the eldest child of Westmoreland,
With its white homes, and cheerful poplar shades,
And graceful bridges o'er the winding Ken,
And happy children playing in the streets,
Came pleasantly upon us.
So we paused,
Leaving the echo of the tiresome wheels,
Rejoiced, amid those rustic haunts to roam,
And grassy lanes.
There was an ancient church,
Dark-browed, and Saxon-arched, and ivy-clad;
And there amid its hallowed aisles we trod,
Reading the mural tablets of the dead,
Or poring o'er the dimly-sculptured names
Upon its sunken pavement.
Next, we sought
Yon lonely castle, with its ruined towers,
Around whose base the tangled foliage, mixed
With shapeless stones, proclaimed no frequent foot
Intrudes amid its desolate domain.
Yet here, the legend saith, thine infant eye
