Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/169

Our slight memorial at thy snowy feet.
Next, on to Haddon Hall. The postern low,
And threshold, worn with tread of many feet,
Receive us silently. How grim and grey
Yon tall, steep fortalice above us towers!
Its narrow apertures, like arrow-slits,
Jealous of heaven's sweet air, its dreary rooms
Floored with rough stones, its uncouth passages
Cut in thick walls, bespeak those iron times
Of despotism, when o'er the mountain-surge
Rode the fierce sea-king, and the robber hedged
The chieftain in his moat.
                                    A freer style
Of architecture clearly, as a chart,
Defines the isthmus of that middle state,
After the Conquest, when the Saxon kernes
With their elf-locks receded. Coarsely mixed
Norman with Gothic, stretch the low-browed halls,
Their open rafters brown with curling smoke.
Hearth-stone and larder, as for giant race,
Tell of rude, festal doings, when in state
The stalwart baron, seated on the dais,
Serf and retainer lowlier ranged around,
Gave hospitality at Christmas-tide,
The roasted ox, the boar, with holly crowned,
And mighty venison pasty, proudly borne
'Tween a stout brace of ancient serving-men.
The elements of rude and gentle times
Were ill concocted then, and struggling held