  This was the Abbey long years ago When a priest was pious, a lord was brave And a lady repeated her Ave slow With fair eyes fixed on the architrave As she heard a sanctified voice that clave The clear bright air with a holy strain: All have been lost in Time’s great wave— Only the old grey walls remain. One arch still stands of all the row That circled the Abbey so tall and brave, These flags as legend would have us know, Are the very stones that used to pave The cloister-walk, when a proud margrave Heard from his hiding a love-talk plain Which he never forgot and never forgave, Only the old grey walls remain. Here where the nettle and nightshade grow By a nameless stone, is the quiet grave Of a murdered priest;—they laid him low Under the walk of the quiet nave. ’Tis whispered alas! that a dagger gave A stab to the heart that brought no pain; Of all the story that Time could save Only the old grey stones remain. ENVOI.Ballade! To that dead lady go Say Love still sings its sad refrain; Of its lofty hope and sunny glow Only its old grey walls remain. |
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