Two
females, elegantly attired in mourning, were parading the garden;
immediately I saw them I thought of the beautiful Eliza; she to whom the
fickle Yorick swore eternal attachment, and then "lit up his heart at
the shrine of another," leaving Eliza to wonder--
"------that fresh features
Have such a charm for us poor human creatures."
Perhaps in this edifice, Eugenius, (the witty Duke of Wharton,[7]) and
his boon companion, have sported their puns and repartees over the
glass; whilst the laughter-moving Sterne, pursuing the dictates of his
heart, has wet the dimpling cheek of Eugenius by some random effusion of
imagination and sensibility. What two noble spirits have there displayed
their intellectual brilliance; and what a gratification to have heard
the author of "The Monk at Calais," and "My uncle Toby," eliciting
smiles and tears by turns, till the delighted heart could scarcely
determine whether joy or sorrow caused the most exquisite feeling.
But to conclude our peregrination--the glory of Hode, Rievaulx, and
Byland abbeys has departed--their founders, ecclesiastics and patrons,
have become dust--the crumbling arch and tottering pillar alone record
"the whereabouts" of the rendezvous of heroes and kings--and rooks
construct their dwellings where the silver crucifix once reared its
massy form, before crowds of adoring monks--the hoarse croak of the
raven is now heard through that valley where pealed the vesper bell; and
the melancholy music of the lonely river succeeds the solemn chant of
mass;--laugh and jest resound where monkish praise quivered through the
Gothic space--the helmet and coronet of blood and birth are fallen from
their wearers--and the genius and eccentricity of Sterne, and the wit of
Wharton, are for ever extinct:
"And fortress, fane and wealthy peer
Along the tide of time are borne.
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