Shakespeare's England . science still adoresHer Henrys holy shade. It was in Windsor Castle that her Henry was born; andthere he often held his court; and it is in St. Georgeschapel that his ashes repose. In the dim distancestands the church of Stoke-Pogis, about which Grayused to wander, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees shade. You recognise now a deeper significance than ever be-fore in the solemn stillness of the incomparableElegy. The luminous twilight mood of that immortalpoem — its pensive reverie and solemn passion — is in-herent in the scene; and you feel that it was there, and
Shakespeare's England . science still adoresHer Henrys holy shade. It was in Windsor Castle that her Henry was born; andthere he often held his court; and it is in St. Georgeschapel that his ashes repose. In the dim distancestands the church of Stoke-Pogis, about which Grayused to wander, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees shade. You recognise now a deeper significance than ever be-fore in the solemn stillness of the incomparableElegy. The luminous twilight mood of that immortalpoem — its pensive reverie and solemn passion — is in-herent in the scene; and you feel that it was there, andthere only, that the genius of its exceptional author —austerely gentle and severely pure, and thus in perfectharmony with its surroundings — could have been movedto that sublime strain of inspiration and at hand, in the midst of your reverie, the melloworgan sounds from the chapel of St. George, where,under fretted vault and over long-drawn aisle,depend the ghostly, mouldering banners of ancient. 56 SHAKESPEARES ENGLAND chap, v knights — as still as the bones of the dead-and-gonemonarchs that crumble in the crypt below. In thischurch are many of the old kings and nobles of Eng-land. The handsome and gallant Edward the Fourthhere found his grave; and near it is that of the accom-plished Hastings—his faithful friend, to the last andafter. Here lies the dust of the stalwart, impetuous,and savage Henry the Eighth, and here, at midnight,by the light of torches, they laid beneath the pavementthe mangled body of Charles the First. As you standon Windsor ramparts, pondering thus upon the storiedpast and the evanescence of all that beauty, all thatwealth eer gave, your eyes rest dreamily on greenfields far below, through which, under tall elms, thebrimming and sparkling river flows on without a sound,and in which a few figures, dwarfed by distance, flit hereand there, in seeming aimless idleness; while, warnedhomeward by impending sunset, the chattering birds
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, booksubjectshakespearewilliam15
