Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE OLD MANORIAL HALL, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE OLD MANORIAL HALL, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: When she was born I had been long the gardener of the hall
Last Line: The old manorial hall.
Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord
Subject(s): Gardens & Gardening


WHEN she was born I had been long the gardener of the Hall,
The shrubs I planted with my hand were rising thick and tall;
My heart was in that work and place, and little thought or care
Had I of other living things than grew and flourished there,
Beneath the happy shelter of
The old Manorial Hall.

At first she came a rosy child, a queen among my flowers,
And played beside me while I worked, and prattled on for hours;
And many a morning, in the plot of ground she called her own,
She found an unexpected show of blossoms freshly blown,
And sent her merry echoes through
The old Manorial Hall.

Thus fifteen summers, every day, I tended her and them
I watched the opening of the bud, the shooting of the stem;
And when her childly laughter turned to silent maiden smiles,
I felt in Heaven whene'er she passed, and scarce on earth the whiles.
How could I ever think to leave
The old Manorial Hall!

One day when Autumn's last delights were nipped by early cold,
It fell like Death upon mine ear that she was bought and sold; --
That some rich lord she hardly knew, had come to bear away
The pride of all the country round -- the poor man's hope and stay --
The Glory and the Darling of
The old Manorial Hall.

I heard her plight to him the troth she could not understand,
I saw her weeping turn her head and wave her parting hand;
And from that hour no thing has gone with me but wrong,
And soon I left the Garden and the Home I loved so long:
It was a haunted house to me,
That old Manorial Hall.

And now I wander up and down, I labour as I can,
Without a wish for rest or friends, a sorry-hearted man;
Yet at the bottom of my thoughts the saddest lies, that she,
With all her wealth and noble state, may none the happier be
Than I, the poor old Gardener of
The old Manorial Hall.





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