Page:The white doe of Rylstone - or, The fate of the Nortons. A poem (IA whitedoeofrylsto00wordrich).pdf/84

 A venerable image yields Of quiet to the neighbouring fields; While from one pillared chimney breathes The silver smoke, and mounts in wreaths. —The courts are hushed;—for timely sleep The Grey-hounds to their kennel creep; The Peacock in the broad ash-tree Aloft is roosted for the night, He who in proud prosperity Of colours manifold and bright Walked round, affronting the day-light; And higher still, above the bower Where he is perched, from yon lone Tower The Hall-clock in the clear moon-shine With glittering finger points at nine. —Ah! who could think that sadness here Had any sway? or pain, or fear? A soft and lulling sound is heard Of streams inaudible by day;