Classic and Contemporary Poetry
VERSES ON SEEING IN AN ALBUM A SKETCH OF AN OLD GATEWAY, by BERNARD BARTON Poet's Biography First Line: Relique of hoar antiquity Last Line: "we feel ""they were, and they are not!" Alternate Author Name(s): Quaker Poet Subject(s): Antiques | ||||||||
RELIQUE of hoar antiquity! With moss and weeds array'd, The debt I long have ow'd to thee May fitly now be paid; When, in thy semblance here, I trace Each well-known, venerable grace, So livingly portray'd: For thou hast power to wake a throng Of thoughts and feelings, dormant long. Thou wast the earliest monument Of what, in former days, Had once been deem'd magnificent, Which met my boyish gaze. And first emotions, kindled then, Now seem to start to life again; As thou, when morning's rays Are on thy time-worn forehead shed, And gild thy brow so garlanded. For, even in boyhood, I possess'd Untutor'd love for all Which since, by Scott, or Froissart dress'd, Wove fancy's sweetest thrall. Deride who may, I then could feel What wildest romance might reveal At fiction's fairy call: And thou, for many years hadst been The only ruin I had seen. And though thou wert a puny shred Of Grandeur's vestment hoary, Before me was not vainly spread The page of thy past glory. I of thy history nothing knew, But with thee rose to memory's view Fragments of ancient story, Which I, in boyish days, had ponder'd, To which again my fancy wander'd. Through such a gate as this, perchance, Thought I, once issued free, All I have read of in romance, And reading, half could see; Robed priests, advancing one by one, And banners gleaming in the sun, With knights of chivalry: And then I almost seem'd to hear The trumpet's clangor thrilling near. "'Twas idlesse all:" such flights as please A castle-building boy, Whom nature early taught to seize (Far more than childish toy) Ideal bliss; by thought created, Such as on marvels strange awaited, And gave romantic joy; Who, even then was wont, alone, To dream adventures of his own. Such are gone by! experience now Has fetter'd fancy's flight; And years upon my pensive brow Inscrib'd, what time must write On heads that think, on hearts that feel, That all the bliss such dreams reveal Is grief, though passing bright: Yet not the less, now these are gone, I love to think how fair they shone. For oh! the morning of the soul Has heavenly brightness in it; And, as the mind's first mists unrol, Gives years in every minute! Years of ideal joy! Life's path, First trod, such dewy freshness hath, 'Tis rapture to begin it: But soon, too soon, the dew-drops dry, Or glisten but in sorrow's eye. And if in mine they gather not, Nor such by me be shed; Like waters in a stony grot, Deep is their fountain head! They, who in tears can find relief, Know little of the excess of grief With which some hearts have bled, When burning eyes, forbid to sleep, Have ach'd, because they could not weep. It boots but little; smiles and tears, Even from beauty beaming, Must fade alike with fleeting years, Like phantoms from the dreaming: But never can they be so bright, As when life's sweet and dawning light On both by turns was gleaming; Unless it be, when, unforgot, We feel "they were, and they are not!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANTIQUE CONVENT PARLOR by MADELINE DEFREES ANTIQUE JEWELER by FREDERICK HENRY HERBERT ADLER EPIGRAM ON A CAPTAIN GROSE by ROBERT BURNS ON THE LATE CAPT. GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS THRO' SCOTLAND by ROBERT BURNS EPIGRAM: ANTIQUARY by JOHN DONNE MY ANTIQUE LAMP by OLIVER MURRAY EDWARDS SILVER AND PEWTER by JOY HOUSTON MICHAUX THE ANTIQUE DESK by ROBERTA ROBERTSON A ROMAN MIRROR by JAMES RENNELL RODD BRUCE AND THE SPIDER by BERNARD BARTON |
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