Historic%20Yorkshire

50
BOLTON ABBEY.
Nor did she fear in thestill moonshine
To look upon Saint Mary's shrine;
Nor on thelonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.
The poet then deals with the solitary wandering of
doe and her continued visits to the grave.
. . bears amemory and amind
Raised far above thelaw ofkind;
Haunting the spots withlonely cheer
Which her dear mistress once held dear;
Loves most whatEmily loved most—
The enclosure ofthis churchyard ground ;
Here wanders like a glidingghost;
And every Sabbathhere is found;
Comes with the peoplewhen the bells
Are heard among themoorland dells,
Finds entrance through yon archwhere way
Lies open on the Sabbath day;
Here walks amid themournful waste
Of prostrate altars, shrines defaced,
And floors encumbered with rich show
Of fretwork imagerylaid low;
Paces softly, or makes halt,
By fractured cell, or tomb, or vault,
By plateofmonumental brass
Dim-gleaming among weeds and grass,
Andsculptured forms of warriors brave;
But chiefly by that single grave,
That one sequesteredhillock green,
The pensive visitant is seen.
the
Besides the fictitious and legendaryassociationsofBolton,
there are in the detailsof its interesting architecture and
in the grandeffect of the church and landscape a hundred
clinging reminders of times long past, giving an air of
reality that seems to snatch us from our own day intothat
of centuries ago, and makeus feel a momentary surprise
at seeing no cowled inhabitant passing to and fro, or
hearing no echo of chants long since diedaway never to
be renewed. One who has vividlyrealisedthe appearance
of the Abbeyin old days thus writes: " When this fine old
Abbey wasin the zenithof its powerand splendour; when