Classic Poem

But, Arlo Glynne, thy glories are no more,
Fell'd are thy forests by the ruthless hand
Of wild extravagance, still craving more
To lavish idly on his scoundrel band,
In sottish pleasures, which the fool had plann'd:
Ev'n now some traveller of curious eyne,
All o'er thy rev'rend ruins takes his stand,
Sighs o'er the spot where once in fortune's shine,
Belgardo, good and brave, with errant knights did dine.