CROFTEN TOWER.
55
Death and decay are everywhere!
The mansion once so gay
Stands lone and silent, all its pride
And glory fled away:
Its high-arched doors, and windows tall,
Are closed and locked fore'er,—
For not the poorest child of want
Would seek a dwelling there.
The mansion once so gay
Stands lone and silent, all its pride
And glory fled away:
Its high-arched doors, and windows tall,
Are closed and locked fore'er,—
For not the poorest child of want
Would seek a dwelling there.
The schoolboy chokes his merry song,
Quickens his lagging pace,
And glances back with fearsome eye
At this deserted place;
The weary laborer shuns the path
That passes by its door,
And takes the long and toilsome track
Across the distant moor.
Quickens his lagging pace,
And glances back with fearsome eye
At this deserted place;
The weary laborer shuns the path
That passes by its door,
And takes the long and toilsome track
Across the distant moor.
I mind me of a vanished time,
When this old house was bright
With life and joy, and festive mirth
Rang out upon the night;
When graceful forms and faces fair
Brightened the stately halls,
And lamps of gold and ormolu
Lit up the polished walls.
When this old house was bright
With life and joy, and festive mirth
Rang out upon the night;
When graceful forms and faces fair
Brightened the stately halls,
And lamps of gold and ormolu
Lit up the polished walls.
A dark and haughty man was he,
The master of the tower,—
The people owned for miles around
The magic of his power!
The master of the tower,—
The people owned for miles around
The magic of his power!
