133 
the flaunting banners of other daysand the noisy jack¬ 
daws and downy, spectre-like owls, are the only disturbers of 
the utter silence, where formerly 
Knights and dames in bower and hall 
Held stately sport and festival; 
or where the solemn chant of the mass, and the far-heard 
vesper-bell told that many a “ Friar of orders grey” there bent 
in prayer and penance oft.” 
In no place or season can the triumj)!! of nature over art be 
so vividly expressed. The proud fabric of man’s ambition, 
toil, and ingenuity, totters and decays; while the frailest of 
Nature’s works, the delicate flower, whose individual life is 
hut a day, springs, ever renewed, in undiminished vigour. 
I remember, where the bosomy hills 
Lie, spreading in their fertile gladness round 
A massive buttressed pile of other days, 
That now in age is mould’ring: while the hills. 
The ancient hills, which saw that Abbey rise 
In its first youthful grandeur from the earth. 
And still have looked upon it, year by year. 
Are still as brightly verdant—still as rich 
In the full time of harvest—still as young. 
When Spring’s light finger wreaths their lofty brows 
With her sAveet, gem-like flowers,—as when at first. 
In their slow-growing infancy, those tow'ers 
Caught the fair sunlight on their unrent sides. 
So while Art’s noblest works are born and die. 
Nature’s renowned youth oullasteth all. 
