The Old Manor House 

 The rusted gates whose forgings fine Enlace a gilded coronet, Now dim in lustreless decline, Groaned as I passed the lichened shapes Of rampant griffin on each side, Stiff with heraldic, stony pride. Then through the grass-grown drive I passed With ancient oaks on either hand, Throwing their shadows dark and vast Upon the bracken at their feet Where rabbits peeped in fear and ran From the rare sound of living man. For here no more the sumptuous train Displays the pomp of falconry; No more, besprent with mire and rain, The messenger-at-arms rides in: Nor, with his retinue of knights Some great man at the house alights. 

 Above the portico Of the great silent house, The quarterings' tinctures glow, Blazoning its history, From the old Sieur de Caulx, Whose heavy Norman sword Helped Harold's overthrow, And whose long line of sons Stretches, like a shadow, Thrown in the eventide, Through the old folio Where illumined pages Bravely the records show, Till the last, lonely heir Was carried down below, To the cold marble vaults A century ago. 

 A gallery o'erlooks the hall, A gallery where minstrels played And with their lutes sweet music made, While from the weapons on the wall, Reflected shone the lights that glowed Above the hospitable board When each successive, generous lord His loyalty or grandeur showed. Kings feasted there with stately dames, Ambassadors and Cardinals Who, cheered with wine and madrigals, Fed with their fancies amorous flames. And at some great eventful scene Full many a dance the chamber graced, Pavanes and sarabands were paced, And minuets when Anne was queen. 

 My footsteps echoing from the panelled walls, Stayed the long sleep of years, Stirring the thick, accumulated dust To movement in the ray of light that falls, From a half-shuttered oriel which appears Between the rafters, just Where a stone mullion its carved apex rears. Faint voices whispered round me as I stood Spellbound and listening there: The ghostly strains of melodies forgot, The happy laughter of fair womanhood: Children in noisy play, without a care: Fierce cries with passion hot, Triumphant some, and some wild with despair. 

 Leaving the chamber so haunted by voices, Fearful, I hastened to where the great staircase Rears its proud height in a double ascension Till it is hid in the deepening shadows. Stiffly upstanding on each chief baluster, Absently gaze the historical griffins, Plunged in their silent and deep meditation. Many a Caulx have they seen pass 

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