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The heir of Rookwood.
We call it Rookwood, for the rooks all day
Caw from its dim old forests.
Bluff Sir Hugh,
The people named my father. Carven from life,
In Rookwood's chapel lies an effigy
That seems a giant's, with a couchant hound
Laid at its feet, and on the monument,
Writ in strange letters, framed to imitate
Some uncouth ancient character, a name,
Hugh Perceval. As one who kept old things
With such a reverent love, that in his house
Not even the fashion of a cup was changed;
As a bold hunter and a loyal knight,
The county knew him. So they shaped his tomb
After the custom of his ancestors,
And placed thereon a likeness of the hound
That whined beside his death-bed. I had scarce
Told eighteen summers when my father died.
Caw from its dim old forests.
Bluff Sir Hugh,
The people named my father. Carven from life,
In Rookwood's chapel lies an effigy
That seems a giant's, with a couchant hound
Laid at its feet, and on the monument,
Writ in strange letters, framed to imitate
Some uncouth ancient character, a name,
Hugh Perceval. As one who kept old things
With such a reverent love, that in his house
Not even the fashion of a cup was changed;
As a bold hunter and a loyal knight,
The county knew him. So they shaped his tomb
After the custom of his ancestors,
And placed thereon a likeness of the hound
That whined beside his death-bed. I had scarce
Told eighteen summers when my father died.
My mother was unlike him, marble calm
As he was boisterous, and her daughters all
Grew to be youthful copies of herself.
As he was boisterous, and her daughters all
Grew to be youthful copies of herself.
