Lines Written in Richmond Church-Yard, Yorkshire

Lines Written in Richmond Church-Yard, Yorkshire

Methinks it is good to be here;

If thou wilt let us build - but for whom?

Nor Elias nor Moses appear,

But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom,
The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? oh, no!

Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For, sec! they would fix him below,

In a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey!

To Beauty? ah, no! - she forgets

The charms which she wielded before

Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore,
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride -

The trappings which dizzen the proud?

Alas! they are all laid aside;

And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd,
But the long winding sheet and the fringe of the shroud!

To Riches? alas! 'tis in vain;

Who hid, in their turns have been hid;

The treasures are squander'd again;

And here in the grave are all metals forbid,
But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford -

The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a plentiful board;

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer,
And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love?

Ah, no! they have wither'd and died,

Or fled with the spirit above;

Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side,
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto Sorrow? - The dead cannot grieve;

Not a sob nor a sigh meets mine ear,

Which compassion itself could relieve!

Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love nor fear:
Peace, peace is the watch word, the only one here!

Unto Death to whom monarchs must bow?

Ah, no! for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies now!

Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone,
Are the signs of a sceptre that none may drown!

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build,

And look for the sleepers around us to rise.

The second to Faith which ensures it fulfill'd,

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice,
Who bequeath'd us them both when he rose to the skies!


Richmond, October 7, 1816.

Herbert Knowles

1:23, p. 92

1827.08.17

The above lines, amongst other poetical effusions, are from the pen of Herbert Knowles, of Canterbury. Though left unfinished, they may give some idea of the early excellence and superior abilities of this youth, which were sufficient to procure him, in an eminent degree, the favour of the most eminent poet of the present day (Southey;) but the advantages of this friendly connexion he did not live to enjoy. H.K. died in the neighbourhood of Richmond, on the 17th of February, 1817, at the early age of 19, deeply lamented by all who knew him.