YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS
SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST
The extensive forest of Inglewood has been enclosed within my
memory. I was well acquainted with it in its ancient state. The
Hart's-horn tree mentioned in the next Sonnet was one of its
remarkable objects, as well as another tree that grew upon an
eminence not far from Penrith: it was single and conspicuous; and
being of a round shape, though it was universally known to be a
Sycamore, it was always called the "Round Thorn," so difficult is
it to chain fancy down to fact.
THE forest huge of ancient Caledon
Is but a name, no more is Inglewood,
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:
On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;
Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none,
Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might deign
With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again,
To kill for merry feast their venison.
Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade
His church with monumental wreck bestrown;
The feudal Warrior-chief, a Ghost unlaid,
Hath still his castle, though a skeleton,
That he may watch by night, and lessons con
Of power that perishes, and rights that fade.