THE RIVER DUDDON
A SERIES OF SONNETS
FALLEN, and diffused into a shapeless heap,
Or quietly self-buried in earth's mould,
Is that embattled House, whose massy Keep,
Flung from yon cliff a shadow large and cold.
There dwelt the gay, the bountiful, the bold;
Till nightly lamentations, like the sweep
Of winds--though winds were silent--struck a deep
And lasting terror through that ancient Hold.
Its line of Warriors fled;--they shrunk when tried
By ghostly power:--but Time's unsparing hand
Hath plucked such foes, like weeds, from out the land;
And now, if men with men in peace abide,
All other strength the weakest may withstand,
All worse assaults may safely be defied.