LANCASTER CASTLE, BY MOONLIGHT. Eliza Day Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T132359 Daye, Eliza, b. ca. 1734. Poems, on Various Subjects. Liverpool Printed by J. M'Creery 1798 pp. [253]-258. [2],x,[4],258p.; 8°

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LANCASTER CASTLE , BY MOONLIGHT . NOW the full moon departed day supplies , Her ray serene invites me here to stray : Hail her in azure , queen of spangled skies ; And bless the chearer of the traveller's way . But chief , beneath these venerable towers , I find the scenes for contemplation fraught ; Congenial scenes to solitary hours , Congenial to the muse of pensive thought . Within yon grates , now twinkling lights dispense Their little blaze , to those who durance ' bide ; Along those battlements the moon beams glance , And o'er that awful portal shadows glide . Thou ancient pile ! whose founder sleeps unknown , But since to ages , first he gave his plan , Full many a change has Britain's empire shewn , And pass'd has many a race of feeble man . How far remote , tradition spares to say ; Nor found its date in legend's fertile page ; But mould'ring time has wrought it no decay ; Nor has it felt the shock of hostile rage . While low full many a noble fabric lies ; By savage fray , or time subdu'd at length ; Genius still kind to thee its aid supplies The grand and useful improvements making by Mr. Harrison , will long bear an honourable testimony to his genius . , Adds grandeur to thy grandeur , strength to strength . Here station'd , to her gods their altars rose An altar dedicated to Mars has been found in making the present improvements . , When Rome of Britain took her transient hold ; This site , her skilful warriors early chose ; And seated here , annoy'd the foe so bold The Caledonians . . When jarring nations and long time had pass'd , This front thy royal Gaunt thus bid arise ; Summon'd some H — n , in gothic taste , With solemn grandeur to attract all eyes . Sublime thy fabric , and how fair around , Survey'd by day the lovely view appears ! But faded now , as memory's tints are found , When it would draw for age its youthful years . Tho' distant hills are wrapp'd in clouds of night , And vivid colours mix in graver shade ; Where first I breath'd the air and saw the light , With rapture still , my native town's survey'd . Oft from its streets my eye well pleas'd I cast , On verdant hills , whence rose its early name The Saxon name was Green Town . ; And still , a little tribute to the past , It yet retains , in part , its ancient claim That part of Lancaster called Green Aer. . Here oft in infancy with awe I've trod , Hearing of secret caverns deep and drear ; And many a winding subterranean road , Wond'ring why man his fellow man should fear ? Quitting the calm serene that sooths around , Within these walls humanity shall turn ; Think on the holds where human misery's found , And ask for whom those glimmering tapers burn . Some there , perhaps , were rear'd with fondest pride , Wore rich attire , and fed on costly fare ; But now , of common liberty denied , And the free current of the vital air . Ye fallen ! where are now those crouded calls , That throng'd from dissipation's giddy train ? Say , need there massy bolts and lofty walls , To banish friends when fortune's on the wane ? But scenes more solemn still attend my way , As thro' the church-yard path I pensive tread ; Yon gloomy towers , alas ! no light display , And all is silent as the sleeping dead . Save where a shriek for mercy strikes the ear , The convicts under sentence of death . Which ah ! if pity hear , it hears in vain ; For daring vice is stopp'd in mad career , And awful justice holds its rigid reign . O'er sanguinary laws the good must mourn , And breathe a wish , that nations , generous , great , To other modes , for warning soon would turn , And death assign but for the murderer's fate . Oh ye whose nights are ease , and days delight , Think on the prisoner in his lonely cell ; Within whose heart , thro' all his long dark night , Bitter reflections , sad forebodings dwell . Him , his fond mother nurs'd with tender love , Joy'd in his growth , guarded his health with care , Thought not of hardship , when for him she strove , And for his good her little all would spare . Alas ! a tempting world seduced his youth , And from a virtuous course his heart could steal , Maternal tears he scorn'd and warning truth , Which adds a pang to all he's doom'd to feel . He thro' his days of bondage deeply mourns , Waters his little garden with his tears The Crown Prisoners in Lancaster Castle have small gardens . , In thought , to times of innocence returns , When simple pleasures charm'd his harmless years . Ye good , with gentle counsels calm his heart ! Increase his comforts , you , where much is given , Spare tears from fictions , pity here impart , From follies spare , to take your hold on Heaven ! H — n , to thee my Muse glad tribute pays , Long ere thy gentle spirit is set free ; Be painful duties soothed by general praise , And soft humanity dispensed by thee . May all who bind the bonds the wretched bear , And hold dominion in their sad abode ; With lenient hand fulfil their task severe , And have their mercy shewn , to plead with God . May thy pitying spirit here pervade , Howard , thy generous efforts still avail ; The cell of bondage fewer woes invade , For man with man may mercy still prevail . With Howard's name revered my song shall close , For him what trophies shall Britannia raise ? In distant lands his ashes must repose , Her prisons be his monuments of praise .