In this gap between the sandhills, whence you see the Locksley tower, Here we met, our latest meeting - Amy-sixty years ago' 'lion passant' from his field. Lame and old, and past his time, and Till the peasant cow shall butt the passing now into the night; Yet I would the rising race were half as eager for the light. Poor old Heraldry, poor old History, poor old Poetry, passing hence, In the common deluge drowning old political common-sense! 250 Poor old voice of eighty crying after voices that have fled! All I loved are vanish'd voices, all my steps are on the dead. All the world is ghost to me, and as the phantom disappears, Forward far and far from here is all the hope of eighty years. Forward then, but still remember how In this hostel - I remember — I repent the course of Time will swerve, Crook and turn upon itself in many a backward streaming curve. Not the Hall to-night, my grandson! Death and Silence hold their own. Leave the master in the first dark I was then in early boyhood, Edith |
