His charger trampling many a prickly star
Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones.
He look’d, and saw that all was ruinous. 315
Here stood a shatter’d archway plumed with fern;
And here had fall’n a great part of a tower,
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:
And high above a piece of turret stair, 320
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems