'A Great Frequenter of the Church.' 135 



Rising above the clustering hamlet that long ago 

 gathered in its shadow, its 



crumbling walls look down, 

 That played a stake for Charles's sake 

 In the game of Church and Crown. 



The ivy that holds in friendly grasp the failing turrets 

 shelters in its knotted coils a multitude of birds. 



Starlings pile their untidy nests in a hundred 

 niches. 



In hollows torn, perhaps, by Roundhead shot, the 

 jackdaws rear their clamorous young. 



One is tempted to fa-ncy that the daws which tenant 

 the unnumbered nooks in the great cathedral wear an 

 air of mystery and reserve, that harmonizes well with 

 their surroundings. There is an old-world look about 

 them. One can half imagine that there are legends 

 handed down among them of the historic pile in whose 

 shadow they and their ancestors have for centuries 

 found sanctuary; that as they flit among the stony- 

 eyed effigies of saints and warriors that people all 

 the noble front, their speech is of old memories 

 and bygone days. Laud and Still, Ken and Wolsey, 

 ruled in the solemn aisles beneath them. In the 

 cool arcades of the cloisters trembling monks have 

 talked with bated breath of the ill deeds of King 

 Harry. 



Across the moor, in the ruins of the famous abbey, 

 again the daws have made a settlement. 



Trailing creepers, that glow like fire under the touch 



