Round this quadrangle was the refectory, the library
and the kitchen, and above them the cells and dormitory of the
brethren. An imperfect staircase, not without danger, led to
these unroofed chambers; but Egremont familiar with the way
did not hesitate to pursue it, so that he soon found himself
on an elevation overlooking the garden, while further on
extended the vast cloisters of the monks, and adjoining was a
cemetery, that had once been enclosed, and communicated with
the cloister garden.
It was one of those summer days that are so still, that they
seem as it were a holiday of nature. The weary wind was
sleeping in some grateful cavern, and the sunbeams basking on
some fervent knoll; the river floated with a drowsy
unconscious course: there was no wave in the grass, no stir in
the branches.
A silence so profound amid these solemn ruins, offered the
perfection of solitude; and there was that stirring in the
mind of Egremont which rendered him far from indisposed for
this loneliness.
The slight words that he had exchanged with the farmer and the
hind had left him musing. Why was England not the same land
as in the days of his light-hearted youth? Why were these
hard times for the poor? He stood among the ruins that, as
the farmer had well observed, had seen many changes: changes
of creeds, of dynasties, of laws, of manners.
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