Classic Poem

(i) TINTERN ABBEY

Above Lancaut, in a sequestered dell,
Where monks, in former days, were wont to dwell,
Enclosed with woods and hills on every side,
Stands Tintern Abbey, spoiled of all her pride,
Whose mournful ruins fill the soul with awe,
Where once was taught God's holy saving law;
Where mitred abbots fanned the heavenly fire,
And shook, with hymns divine, the heavenly choir.
Though now the fallen roof admits the day,
She claims our veneration, in decay;
Looks like a goodly matron, drowned in tears,
By friends forsaken, and broke down with years.
Her fine old windows, arches, walls, unite
To fill the mind with pity and delight;
For from her splendid ruins may be seen
How beautiful this desecrated place has been.
Round the old walls observe the ivy twine,
A plant attached to grandeur in decline.
The tottering pile she clasps in her embrace,
With a green mask conceals its furrowed face,
And keeps it standing on its time-worn base.
Learn hence, O man! to act the ivy's part,
Fix deep the bright exemplar in thine heart;
To friendship's sacred call with joy attend —
Cling, like the ivy, round a falling friend!
Who, when she can no longer prop the wall,
Hugs her old friend, and both together fall.