Smiles on the arch that nobly spans the flood—
And here have kings and hoary statesmen gazed,
When spring with garlands deck'd the vale below,
Or when the waning year had lightly razed
The banks where Avon's lingering fountains flow.
XI.
And did no minstrel greet the courtly throng?
Did no fair flower of English loveliness
On timid lute sustain some artless song,
Her meek brow bound with smooth unbraided tress?