Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
England: Vols. I–IV. 1876–79.
On Leaving Newstead Abbey
By Lord Byron (17881824)T
Thou, the hall of my fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden the hemlock and thistle
Have choked up the rose which late bloomed in the way.
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with every blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.
Raise a flame in the breast for the war-laurelled wreath;
Near Askalon’s Towers John of Horistan slumbers,
Unnerved is the hand of his minstrel by death.
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My fathers! the tears of your country redress ye;
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.
Four brothers enriched with their blood the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch, their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty sealed.
From the seat of his ancestors bids you adieu!
Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he ’ll think upon glory and you.
’T is nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his fathers he ne’er can forget.
He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown;
Like you will he live or like you will he perish;
When decayed, may he mingle his dust with your own.