Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1836.pdf/12



sun is on the crowded street, It kindles those old towers; Where England’s noblest memories meet, Of old historic hours.

Vast, shadowy, dark, and indistinct, Tradition’s giant fane, Whereto a thousand years are linked, In one electric chain.

So stands it when the morning light First steals upon the skies; And shadow’d by the fallen night, The sleeping city lies.

It stands with darkness round it cast, Touched by the first cold shine; Vast, vague, and mighty as the past, Of which it is the shrine.

’Tis lovely when the moonlight falls Around the sculptured stone Giving a softness to the walls, Like love that mourns the gone.

Then comes the gentlest influence The human heart can know, The mourning over those gone hence To the still dust below.

The smoke, the noise, the dust of day, Have vanished from the scene; The pale lamps gleam with spirit ray O'er the park's sweeping green.

Sad shining on her lonely path, The moon’s calm smile above, Seems as it lulled life’s toil and wrath With universal love.