Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1836.pdf/57

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, alas! those ancient towers, Where never now the vespers ring, But lonely at the midnight hours, Flits by the bat on dusky wing.

No more beneath the moonlight dim, No more beneath the planet ray, Those arches echo with the hymn That bears life’s meaner cares away.

No more within some cloistered cell, With windows of the sculptured stone, By sign of cross, and sound of bell, The world-worn heart can beat alone.

How needful some such tranquil place, Let many a weary one attest, Who turns from life’s impatient race, And asks for nothing but for rest.

How many, too heart-sick to roam Still longer o’er the troubled wave, Would thankful turn to such a home— A home already half a grave.

The remains of Fountain's Abbey are considered the finest in England. The cloisters are a vast extent of straight vault, three hundred feet long, and forty-two broad; divided lengthways by nineteen pillars and twenty arches; each pillar divides into eight ribs at the top, which diverge and intersect each other on the roof. Here is a large stone basin, the remains of a fountain.