Poems (Acton)/On an Ancient Oak Room in Warwickshire

ON AN ANCIENT OAK ROOM IN WARWICKSHIRE, FORMERLY THE RESIDENCE OF ROBERT, EARL OF LEICESTER. ——

Relic of ancient splendour,
 Remnant of olden pride,
Spells rest thee round, lest aught of ill
 Thy pillared walls betide.

Many an eye hath marked thee,
 Now closed in death's long sleep;
Gay hearts have ceased their laughter,
 The sad have ceased to weep.

All, all hath changed around thee,
 But thou'rt unaltered yet;
And long must time pass o'er thee
 Ere thy beauty we forget.

Hast thou no gentle legend
 Of courtly dame and knight,
Whose joyous voices, long since hushed,
 Have filled thee with delight?

Thou bearest on thy portal
 The symbol of a name,
Whispered with strange misgiving;
 Deathless in crime-wrought fame.

Say, hath no gentle being
 Passed o'er thy polished floor,
With sigh of bitter meaning,
 Lip that would smile no more?

Say, hath no weary watcher
 Rested thy casement near;
Marking the Leicester's absence,
 By many a blighting tear?

Surely thou canst not tell us,
 Thou hast looked down at last,
On scenes as dark as story
 Hath brought us from the past!

For we would gaze around thee,
 And picture hearts of mirth,
And fancy they are laid to sleep,
 Watched by their parent earth.

Rather than know thy fame to be
 Such scene of terror wild;
The tomb of ev'ry cherished hope
 Raised by earth's fairest child!

Oh! noble spot! Long o'er thee
 Be cast a magic spell!
Kind fairies tread thee lightly,
 And guard thy beauty well!

Still, still endure to gladden
 The hearts within thee now,
And cast a gleam of pleasure
 Upon thine owner's brow!

Still be to them a relic
 Of a calm and happy past;
The brightness of its sunny hours,
 Recalling to the last!
R. A.