Then faded, quivering, from my sight The memory-woven dream. The towers of Joyous Garde shall never more Lighten that desolate shore; No longe'r through the night Wrestling with love, beneath the pale moon gleam That anguished form!-- But keen with snow and wind, and loud with gathering storm.
(In "The Northern Counties Magazine," March, 1901).
O though here fair blows the rose, and the woodbine waves on high, And oak, and elm, and bracken fronds enrich the rolling lea, And winds, as if in Arcady, breathe joy as they go by, Yet I yearn and I pine for my North Countrie!
I leave the drowsing South, and in thought I northward fly, And walk the stretching moors that fringe the ever-calling sea, And am gladdened as the gales that are so bitter-sweet rush by. While grey clouds sweetly darken o'er my North Countrie.
For there's music in the storms, and there's colour in the shades, And joy e'en in the grief so widely brooding o'er the sea; And larger thoughts have birth amid the moors and lonely glades And reedy mounds and sands of my North Countrie!
[Illustration: Sketch Map Of Northumberland.]
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Northumberland Yesterday and To-day by Jean F. Terry