Lamborough Castle

Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep, 
Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime, 
Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time 
Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep 
Round your dark battlements; for far from halls 
Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat, 
Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat 
With hollow bodings round your ancient walls; 
And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour 
Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, 
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower, 
And tarns her ear to each expiring cry; 
Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save, 
And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.