Classic Poem

NEAR KINGSTON, SURREY, ONCE THE SEAT OF THE FAMOUS KING-MAKING EARL OF WARWICK, AND LATE IN THE POSSESSION OF THE FAMILY OF HARVEY .

Y E modern domes that rise elate
O'er yonder prostrate walls,
In vain your hope to match the state
Of Neville's ancient halls.

Dread mansion! on thy gothic tower
Were regal standards rais'd;
The rose of York, white virgin flower,
Or red Lancastria's blaz'd.

Warwick, high chief, whose awful word
Or shook, or fix'd the throne,
Spread here his hospitable board,
Or war'd in tilts alone.

When Combe her garter'd knights beheld
On barbed steeds advance,
Where ladies crown'd the tented field,
And Love inspir'd the lance.

Historic heralds here array'd
Fair acts in gorgeous style,
But heroes' toils were best repay'd
By bashful Beauty's smile.

So flourish'd Combe, and flourish'd long
With lords of bounteous soul;
Her walls still echoed to the song,
And Mirth still drain'd her bowl.

And still her courts with footsteps meek
The fainting traveller press'd,
Still Misery flush'd her faded cheek
At Harvey's genial feast. —

Lov'd seat, how oft, in childish ease,
Along thy woods I stray'd,
Now ventrous climb'd embowering trees,
Now sported in their shade.

Along thy hills the chase I led
With echoing hounds and horns,
And left for thee my downy bed,
Unplanted yet with thorns.

Now, languid with the noontide beams,
Explor'd thy precious springs
That proudly flow like Susa's streams,
To temper cups for Kings.

But soon, inspir'd with nobler pow'rs,
I sought thy awful grove;
There frequent sooth'd my evening hours,
That best deceiver, Love.

Each smiling joy was there, that springs
In life's delicious prime;
There young Ambition plum'd his wings,
And mock'd the flight of Time. —

There patriot passions fir'd my breast
With Freedom's glowing themes,
And Virtue's image rose confess'd
In bright Platonic dreams. —

Ah me! my dreams of harmless youth
No more thy walks invade,
The charm is broke by sober Truth,
Thy fairy visions fade. —

No more unstain'd with fear or guilt
Such hours of rapture smile,
Each airy fabric Fancy built
Is vanish'd as thy pile! —