Classic Poem

And there we saw in summer tide,
By upland grass or half-dried hay,
The Stour outmark his winding way,
Or sunken Lyddan slowly slide;
And there look'd over road and bridge,
The while our limbs began to tire,
To see the sun o'er Thornhill ridge,
And lofty top of Thornhill spire.

Out far and near peep'd up hill brows
And sloping fields, that rose and sank
Mark'd off by hedgerow-elms in rank
Above the cluster'd dairy cows;
With here a farm, and there a mill,
And there a tow'r, while here, the 'Squire
Look'd out of windows on the hill,
And saw his lofty Thornhill spire.

And there, in summerleaze or mead,
Or road, the old folk, weather wise,
Would look at whiles around the skies,
For weather tokens they could read;
And cry, " To-morrow will be warm,
The sun is set as red as fire;"
Or, " Oh! we soon shall have a storm,
The sky is black by Thornhill spire."

And then our elders' eyes could mark
A stately house, with lofty halls,
Within the miles of well-piled walls,
That hem the high-swoll'n Stalbridge Park.
But that fair house has hardly now
Been ever seen by son or sire;
And up on Thornhill's lengthy brow,
Has fallen down the Thornhill spire.