CHATSWORTH AND HADDON HALL.
I've heard the humid skies did ever weep
In merry England, and a blink of joy
From their blue eyes was like a pearl of price.
Mine own indeed are sunnier, yet at times
There comes a day so exquisitely fair,
That with its radiance and its rarity
It makes the senses giddy.
Such an one
Illumined Chatsworth, when we saw it first,
Set like a gem against the hanging woods
That formed its background. Herds of graceful deer,
Pampered perchance until they half forget
Their native fleetness, o'er the ample parks
Roamed at their pleasure. From the tower that crests
The eastern hill, a floating banner swayed
With the light breezes, while a drooping Ash,
Of foliage rich, stood lonely near the gates,
Like the presiding genius of the place,
Unique and beautiful. Their silver jet
The sparkling fountains o'er the freshened lawns
