BURNHAM ABBEY
Reading edition
BURNHAM ABBEY, From a Sketch, by a Correspondent.
Burnham is a village of some consideration, in Buckinghamshire, and gives name to a deanery and hundred. Its prosperity has been also augmented by the privilege of holding three fairs annually. It is situate in the picturesque vicinity of Windsor, about five miles from that town, and three miles N.E. of Maidenhead. It was anciently a place of much importance. One of the few relics of its greatness is the ivy-mantled ruin represented in the above Engraving. So late as the fourteenth century, Burnham could also boast of a royal palace within its boundary: but, alas! the wand of Prospero has long since touched its gorgeousness, so as to “leave not a rack behind.”
The nunnery was richly endowed with several of the neighbouring manors; the remains are now used as the out-offices of an adjoining farm. Little can be traced of the “studious cloister,” the “storied window,” or the “high embowed roof;” but the ivy climbs with parasitic fondness over its gable, or thrusts its rootlets as holdfasts into its crumbling wall. The dates of these ruins claim the attention of the speculative antiquary. The chimney, though of great age, did not of course belong to the original building; the earliest introduction of chimneys into this country being stated, (but without proof,) to be in the year 1300. The upper window, and the arched doorway are in the early English style prevalent at the date of the foundation; the former has the elegant lancet-shape of the earliest specimens.
A DREAM OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
“Another scene where happiness is sought! A festive chamber with its golden hues, Its dream-like sounds, and languishing delights.” R. MONTGOMERY.
I stood in the light of the festive hall, Gorgeously wrought was its pictured wall; And the strings of the lute replied in song, To the heart-breathed lays of the vocal throng. Oh! rich were the odours that floated there, O’er the swan-like neck and the bosom fair; And roses were mingled with sparkling pearls, On the marble brow, and the cluster’d curls. I stood in that hall, and my lips were mute, And my spirit entranced with the elfin lute; And the eyes that look’d on me seem’d fraught with love, As the stars that make Night more divine above. A sorrowful thought o’er my spirit came, Like thunder-clouds kindling with gloom and flame; For I knew that those forms in the dust would lie, And no passionate lips to their songs reply. But the music recalled me, the hall glow’d with light, And burst like a vision of heaven on my sight; “Oh! thus,” I exclaimed, “will dark feelings depart, When the sunshine of beauty descends on the heart!” G.R. CARTER.