Lines Written Amidst The Ruins Of A Church On The Coast Of Suffolk.

"What hast thou seen in the olden time,         Dark ruin, lone and gray?"     "Full many a race from thy native clime,         And the bright earth, pass away.     The organ has pealed in these roofless aisles,         And priests have knelt to pray     At the altar, where now the daisy smiles         O'er their silent beds of clay.     "I've seen the strong man a wailing child,         By his mother offered here;     I've seen him a warrior fierce and wild;         I've seen him on his bier,     His warlike harness beside him laid         In the silent earth to rust;     His plumed helm and trusty blade         To moulder into dust!     "I've seen the stern reformer scorn         The things once deemed divine,     And the bigot's zeal with gems adorn         The altar's sacred shrine.     I've seen the silken banners wave         Where now the ivy clings,     And the sculptured stone adorn the grave         Of mitred priests and kings.     "I've seen the youth in his tameless glee,         And the hoary locks of age,     Together bend the pious knee,         To read the sacred page;     I've seen the maid with her sunny brow         To the silent dust go down,     The soil-bound slave forget his woe,         The king resign his crown.     "Ages have fled--and I have seen         The young--the fair--the gay--     Forgot as if they ne'er had been,         Though worshipped in their day:     And school-boys here their revels keep,         And spring from grave to grave,     Unconscious that beneath them sleep         The noble and the brave.     "Here thousands find a resting place         Who bent before this shrine;     Their dust is here--their name and race,         Oblivion; now are thine!     The prince--the peer--the peasant sleeps         Alike beneath the sod;     Time o'er their dust short record keeps,         Forgotten save by God!     "I've seen the face of nature change,         And where the wild waves beat,     The eye delightedly might range         O'er many a goodly seat;     But hill, and dale, and forest fair,         Are whelmed beneath the tide.     They slumber here--who could declare         Who owned those manors wide!     "All thou hast felt--these sleepers knew;         For human hearts are still     In every age to nature true,         And swayed by good or ill:     By passion ruled and born to woe,         Unceasing tears they shed;     But thou must sleep, like them, to know         The secrets of the dead!"