Hark! from the depths beneath that proud saloon
The water's moan comes fitful and subdued,
Where in mild glory yon triumphant moon
Smiles on the arch that nobly spans the flood--
And here have kings and hoary statesmen gazed,
When spring with garlands deck'd the vale below,
Or when the waning year had lightly razed
The banks where Avon's lingering fountains flow.