YE holy tow'rs, that crown the azure deep, <br />Still may ye shade the wave-worn rock sublime, <br />Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time <br />Assail you, and the winter Whirlwind's sweep! <br />For far from blazing Grandeur's crowded halls, <br />Here Charity hath fix'd her chosen seat, <br />Oft listening tearful when the wild winds beat, <br />With hollow bodings, round your ancient walls; <br />And Pity's self, at the dark stormy hour <br />Of Midnight, when the Moon is hid on high, <br />Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tow'r, <br />And turns her ear to each expiring cry; <br />Blest if her aid some fainting wretch might save, <br />And snatch him speechless from the whelming wave.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-ii-written-at-bamborough-castle/
