Page:Ambarvalia - Clough (1849).djvu/127

 A green-grown path, through gloomy screens Of damp holm-oak it pressed, Yet confident, as though its means Were more than it confessed: But soon it ran less free and fleet, Then, like a thing afraid, Stopped suddenly beneath my feet, Within a silent glade.

No statues here, no marble cup Still dripping with the stream! No cypresses still spiring up Terrific as a dream! No royalty, no pride of heart, No tall Palladian dome; —But 'twas a garden of the heart, 'Twas England,—it was home!

Dear Charnwood, thou hast glades like this Hid in thy rocky breast! How often, tranced in summer bliss, Such scenes have I possessed! How often sighed for them I love To see and take their part, Then checked the sigh that would disprove Their presence—in my heart.