The abbots loved to
memorise their reigns by some public work, which should add to
the beauty of their buildings or the convenience of their
subjects; and the last of the ecclesiastical lords of Marney,
a man of fine taste and a skilful architect, was raising this
new belfry for his brethren when the stern decree arrived that
the bells should no more sound. And the hymn was no more to
be chaunted in the Lady's chapel; and the candles were no more
to be lit on the high altar; and the gate of the poor was to
be closed for ever; and the wanderer was no more to find a
home.
The body of the church was in many parts overgrown with
brambles and in all covered with a rank vegetation. It had
been a very sultry day, and the blaze of the meridian heat
still inflamed the air; the kine for shelter, rather than for
sustenance, had wandered through some broken arches, and were
lying in the shadow of the nave. This desecration of a spot,
once sacred, still beautiful and solemn, jarred on the
feelings of Egremont. He sighed and turning away, followed a
path that after a few paces led him into the cloister garden.
This was a considerable quadrangle; once surrounding the
garden of the monks, but all that remained of that fair
pleasaunce was a solitary yew in its centre, that seemed the
oldest tree that could well live, and was, according to
tradition, more ancient than the most venerable walls of the
Abbey.
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