eye,
  Though years have changed thee, I have gazed intent
  In silent joy, on tower and battlement,
  When all thy time-worn glories met my sight;
  Thou have I felt such rapture, such delight,
  That, had the splendour of thy days of yore
  Flashed on my view, I had not loved thee more! 
  Scene of immortal deeds! thy walls have rung
  To pealing shouts from many a warrior’s tongue;
  When first thy founder, Redwald of the spear,
  Manned thy high towers, defied his foemen near,
  When, girt with strength, East-Anglia’s king of old,
  The sainted Edmund, sought thy sheltering hold,
  When the proud Dane, fierce Hinguar, in his ire
  Besieged the king, and wrapped thy walls in fire,
  While Edmund fled, but left thee with his name
  Linked, and for ever, to the chain of fame: 
  Then wast thou great! and long, in after years
  Thy grandeur shone—­thy portraiture appears
  From history’s pencil like a summer-night,
  With much of shadow, but with more of light!

    Pile of departed days!—­my verse records,
  Thy time of glory, thy illustrious Lords,
  The fearless Bigods—­Brotherton—­De Vere,
  And Kings, who held thee in their pride, or fear,
  And gallant Howards, ’neath whose ducal sway
  Proud rose thy towers, thy rugged heights were gay
  With glittering banners, costly trophies rent
  From men in war, or tilt, or tournament,
  With all the pomp and splendour that could grace
  The name, and honours of that warlike race. 
  Howards! the rich! the noble! and the great! 
  Most brave! most happy! most unfortunate! 
  Kings were thy courtiers!—­Queens have sued to share
  Thy wealth, thy triumphs—­e’en thy name to bear! 
  Tyrants have bowed thy children to the dust,
  Some for their worth—­and some who broke their trust! 
  And there was one among thy race, who died
  To Henry’s shame!—­his country’s boast and pride: 
  Immortal Surrey!—­Offspring of the Muse! 
  Bold as the lion, gentle as the dews
  That fall on flowers to ’wake their odorous breath,
  And shield their blossoms from the touch of death,
  Surrey!—­thy fate was wept by countless eyes,
  A nation’s woe assailed the pitying skies,
  When thy pure spirit left this scene of strife,
  And soared to him who breathed it into life: 
  Thy funeral knell pealed o’er the world!—­thy fall
  Was mourned by hearts that loved thee, mourned by all—­
  All, save thy murderers!—­thou hast won thy crown: 
  And thou, fair Framlinghame! a bright renown,
  Yes! thy rich temple holds the stately tomb,
  Where sleeps the Poet in his lasting home,
  Lamented Surrey!—­hero, bard divine,
  Pride, grace, and glory of brave Norfolk’s line. 
  Departed spirit!—­Oh!  I love to hold
  Communion sweet with lofty minds of old,
  To catch a spark of that celestial fire