Analysis of Belvoir Castle.—Seat of the Duke of Rutland

Tis an old and stately castle,
    In an old and stately wood;
Thoughts and shadows gathered round it,
    Of the ages it had stood.

But not of the ancient warriors,
    Whose red banners swept its towers,
Nor of any lovely lady,
    Blooming in its former bowers—

Think I now;—but one as lovely,
    And more gifted, haunts my line.
In the visions round yon castle
    Is no fairer one than thine!

I can fancy thee in childhood
    Wandering through each haunted scene,
Peopling the green glades around thee
    With the thoughts of what had been:

Asking of each leaf its lesson,
    Of each midnight star its tale,
Till thy fancy caught revealings
    From the music of the gale.

Yet, whence did thy lute inherit
    All it knows of human grief?—
What dost thou know of the knowledge
    On life’s dark and daily leaf?

In thy woman-hearted pages,
    How much sympathy appears
With the sorrowful and real,
    All that only speaks in tears!

Have those large bright eyes been darkened
    By the shadows from below?
Rather would I deem thee dreaming
    Over grief thou canst not know.

But thou hast the poet’s birthright,
    In a heart too warm and true.
Wreath thy dark hair with the laurel—
    On it rests the midnight dew!