It was treated
little better by its present tenant, than by the old lord who preceded
him; so that when, in the autumn of 1808, Lord Byron took up his abode
there, it was in a ruinous condition. The following lines from his own
pen may give some idea of its condition:
"Through thy battlements, Newstead. the hollow winds whistle,
Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choked up the rose which once bloomed in the way.
"Of the mail-covered barons who, proudly, to battle
Led thy vassals from Europe to Palestine's plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with every wind rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain."
[Footnote: Lines on leaving Newstead Abbey.]
In another poem he expresses the melancholy feeling with which he took
possession of his ancestral mansion:
"Newstead! what saddening scene of change is thine,
Thy yawning arch betokens sure decay:
The last and youngest of a noble line,
Now holds thy mouldering turrets in his sway.
"Deserted now, he scans thy gray-worn towers,
Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep,
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers,
These--these he views, and views them but to weep.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108