________________________________________________
Title: Occasional Lines Repeated At An Elegant Entertainment
Author: Sir John Carr [
More Titles by Carr]
GIVEN BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL D---- TO HIS FRIENDS
IN THE RUINS OF BERRY CASTLE, DEVONSHIRE.[A]
By your permission, Ladies! I address ye,
And for the boon you grant, my Muse shall bless ye.
I do not mean in solemn verse to tell
What fate the race of Pomeroy befell;
To trace the castle-story of each year,
To learn how many owls have hooted here;
What was the weight of stone, which form'd this pile,
Will on your lovely cheeks awake no smile:
Such antiquarian sermons suit not me,
Nor any soul who loves festivity.
Past times I heed not; be the present hour
In life, while yet it blooms, my chosen flow'r,
For well I know, what Time cannot disown,
Amidst this mossy pile of mould'ring stone,
That Hospitality was never seen
To spread more social joy upon the green;
Or, when its noble and capacious hall
Rang with the gambol gay, or graceful ball,
More beauty never charm'd its ancient beaux
Than what its honour'd ruins now enclose.
Thanks to the clouds, which from the soaking show'r
Preserve the vot'ries of the present hour;
For, strange to tell, beneath the chilling storm,
Lately the rose reclin'd her frozen form;
Yet since, beneath the favour of the weather,
We are (a laughing group) conven'd together,
Pray let the Muse pursue her merry route,
To shew what pass'd before we all set out.
To some fair damsel, who, intent to charm,
Declares she thinks the weather fine and warm,
Such words as these address her trembling ear--
"I really think we shall have rain, my dear;
Pray do not go, my love," cries soft mama;
"You shall not go, that's flat," cries stern papa.
A lucky sunbeam shines on the discourse,
The parents soften, and Miss mounts her horse.
Each tickled with some laugh-inspiring notion,
Behold the jocund party all in motion:
Some by a rattling buggy are befriended,
Some mount the cart--but not to be suspended.
The mourning-coach[B] is wisely counter-order'd
(The very thought on impious rashness border'd),
Because the luckless vehicle, one night,
Put all its merry mourners in a fright,
Who, to conduct them to the masquerade,
Sought from its crazy wheels their moving aid.
Us'd to a soleme pace, the creaking load
Bounded unwillingly along the road;
Down came the whole--oh! what a sight was there!
O'er a blind Fiddler roll'd a Flow'r-Nymph fair;
A glitt'ring Spaniard, who had lost his nose,
Roar'd out, "Oh! d--n it, take away your toes;"
A blooming Nun fell plump upon a Jew,
Still to the good old cause of traffic true,
Buried in clothes, exclaim'd the son of barter,
"Got blesh my shoul! you'll shell this pretty garter?"
Here let me pause;--the Muse, in sad affright,
Turns from the dire disasters of that night;
Quite panic-struck she drops her trembling plumes,
And thus a moralizing theme assumes:--
Know, gentle Ladies, once these shapeless walls,
O'er whose grey wreck the shading ivy crawls,
Compos'd a graceful mansion, whose fair mould
Led from the road the trav'ller, to behold.
Oft, when the morning ting'd the redd'ning skies,
Far off the spiral smoke was seen to rise;
At noon the hospitable board was spread,
Then nappy ale made light the weary head;
And when grey eve appear'd, in shadows damp,
Each casement glitter'd with th' enliv'ning lamp;
Here the laugh titter'd, there the lute of Love
Fill'd with its melody the moon-light grove:
All, all are fled!--Time ruthless stalks around,
And bends the crumbling ruin to the ground:
Time, Ladies, too (I know you do not like him,
And, if a fan could end him, you would strike him),
Will with as little gallantry devour
From your fair faces their bewitching pow'r;
Then, like these ruins, beauteous in decay,
Still shall you charm, and men shall still obey:
Then, with remembrance soft, and tender smile,
Perchance you'll think upon this mossy pile;
And, with a starting tear of joy declare,
"Oh! how we laugh'd, how merry were we there!"
[Footnote A: The manor of Berry was given by William the Conqueror to one of his Normans, Ralph de la Pomerai, who built on it the castle which still bears his name, and in whose family it continued till the reign of Edward VI. when it was sold by Sir Thomas Pomeroy to Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, from whom it has descended to the present Duke.
The castle is seated upon a rock, which rises almost perpendicularly from a narrow valley; through this valley winds a small stream of water, which drives the mill seen through the foliage of the surrounding woods from the turrets of the castle.
In approaching the castle from the south, the path leads down the side of a hill through a thick wood; and on the north side of the valley, opposite the rock on which the castle stands, is a high ridge, partly covered with oak: these hills completely shut in the ruins on both sides. The valley stretches a considerable way both to the east and west, and opens a view at either end into the adjacent country.
From the ivy-covered ruins of the fortress which now remain, it is scarcely possible to say what was its ancient form; but it is most generally supposed to have been quadrangular, having only one entrance, a large double portcullis, at the west end of the southern front, turreted and embattled, as was the whole of the front, with a tower at its eastern end, corresponding with that on the west. This front, with its gateway and turrets, are perhaps the only remains of the original structure. Winding steps, now almost worn away, lead to what once was a chapel, over the portcullis, and thence to the top of the turrets.
In more modern times a magnificent building was erected within the walls of the castle by the Seymour family; but, although upwards of £20,000 were said to have been expended on it, it was never finished, and now the whole forms one common ruin, which, as it totters on it base, the spectator contemplates with awe, while he sighs over the remains of fallen grandeur.]
[Footnote B: A party from Totness went to Lord Courtenay's masquerade in this way, there being no other conveyance to be had, and met with the ridiculous accident here alluded to.]
[The end]
Sir John Carr's poem: Occasional Lines Repeated At An Elegant Entertainment
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
