Marmion . gh the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horses hoof-tread sounds too rude. So stilly is the solitvide. ^P Nought living meets the eye or ear,But well I ween the dead are near;For though, in feudal strife, a foeHath laid Our Ladys chapel still, beneath the hallowed peasant rests him from his toil,And, dying, bids his bones be laidWhere erst his simple fathers prayed. If age had tamed the passions strife,And fate had cut my ties to have I thought, t were sweet to dwell,

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Marmion . gh the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills; In summer tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horses hoof-tread sounds too rude. So stilly is the solitvide. ^P Nought living meets the eye or ear,But well I ween the dead are near;For though, in feudal strife, a foeHath laid Our Ladys chapel still, beneath the hallowed peasant rests him from his toil,And, dying, bids his bones be laidWhere erst his simple fathers prayed. If age had tamed the passions strife,And fate had cut my ties to have I thought, t were sweet to dwell,And rear agaiu the chaplains cell,Like that same peaceful hermitage,Where ]\Iilton longed to spend his were sweet to mark the setting day,On Bourhopes lonely top decay ;And, as it faint and feeble diedOn the broad lake, and mountains side,To say, Thus pleasures fade away ;Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay,And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ;Then gaze on Dryhopes ruined tower, (?: Qj P if?;#^ 5^4t^.

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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidmarmion00sco, bookyear1885