Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/267

Rh A right substantial, well-preserved old Tower, Let that suffice us. Some there are, who say Thou wert an ancient wind-mill. Be it so! Our pilgrim-sires must have been much in love With extra labor, thus to gather stones, And patient rear thy Scandinavian arch, And build thine ample chamber, and uplift Thy shapely column, for the gadding winds To play vagaries with. In those hard times I trow king Philip gave them other work, Than to deck dancing-halls, and lure the blasts From old Eolus' cave. Had'st thou the power, I think thou'dst laugh right heartily to see The worthy farmers, with their sacks of corn, Mistaking thy profession, as of old Don Quixote did mistake thine ancestor: If haply such progenitor thou hadst.

But still, grey Ruin, though they lightly speak, I fain would honor thee, as rhymers do, And 'neath thy shadow weave my noteless song. I said I 'd do thee honor, if I might, For thou art old. And whatsoever bears The stamp of hoary time, and hath not been