Behind the crumbling walls of Eaglestein,
The tomb of the old Yerls may still be seen,
And there long mouldering lay close side by side,
Sir Peregrine the bold and his fair bride;
Their ashes scattered now and blown away,
As thine and mine will be some coming day.
This world is surely an enchanted theme,
A thing of seims and shows—a wild fantastic dream.
III.
THE LEGEND OF ALLERLEY HALL.
The tower-bell has sounded the midnight hour,
Old Night has unfolded her sable pall,
Darkness o'er hamlet, darkness o'er hall,
Loud screams the raven on Allerley Tower;[A]
A glimmering gleam from yon casement high
Is all that is seen by the passer-by.
[Footnote A: In Ayrshire, as I have heard, but I know of no trace of the family. The old distich may be traced to some other county:
"The Allerley oak stands high, abune trees;
When the raven croaks there, an Allerley dees."
Such rhymes have generally something to rest upon, but I cannot associate this with any county, far less a family.]
All things are neglected, time-smitten there,
Crazy and cobwebbed, mildewed and worn,
Moth-eaten, weeviled, dusty, forlorn,
Everything owning to waning and wear;
From the baron's hall to the lady's bower
NEGLECT is the watchword in Allerley Tower.
There is silence within old Allerley Hall,
Save the raven without with her "croak, croak,"
And the cricket's "click, click," in the panels of oak,
Behind the dim arras that hangs on the wall;
So silent and sad in the midnight hour,
Yet life may still linger in Allerley Tower.
An old woman sits by a carved old bed—
The drape of green silk, all yellow and sere,
The gold-coloured fringes dingy and drear;
And she nods and nods her silvery head,
And sometimes she looks with a half-drowsy air.
To notice how Death may be working there.