Newstead Abbey

Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle:
Thou, the hall of my Fathers, art gone to decay;
In thy once smiling garden, the hemlock and thistle
Have choak'd up the rose, which late bloom'd in the way

So, I had to squint a little to see the decay that Lord Byron spoke of when he wrote "On Leaving Newstead Abbey. The gardens are definitely NOT choked with thistle, but the house itself was depressing, even when dressed up by subsequent owners and now put on display for tourism purposes.

A few hundred years before the poet was born, King Henry VIII in his quest to turn England Protestant ( and get a divorce) took this abbey away from the Catholic monks and gave it to the first Lord Byron. The church itself was destroyed (too Papal!) but the facing wall was preserved as it was integral to the structure of the rest of the house. Kinda ironic, dontcha think?? The sight of the trees through what was once, surely, a beautiful stained glass window, was both melancholy and satisfying, leading me in many directions of thought about how mankind chooses to symbolize our worship of God.

Much of the Gothic architecture is evident in the spires and the pointed arches, and the huge stained glass window (now gone) that was made possible by the flying buttress wall supports, now also mostly gone. Since much of this would have been gone or deteriorating during poet Byron's time, I can see how this place would have been depressing in a Romantic way. However, my Romantic side would be saddened by the loss of religious fervor about the landscape and in its place, the decadent living of the many Lord Bryons. Byron could only see into the past as far as his own ancestors and the heroes of England were concerned. He vows that he will never disgrace the memory of his Fathers that so permeates Newstead; from what I know of poet Bryon's life, he pretty much lived up to his heritage!

The grounds and gardens of Newstead Abbey are now lovely and meticulously landscaped. Walking through these landscapes was so very different from what I've experienced so far in England. The moors of the Brontes was enlightening; it felt wild and free in an open, expansive, windy sense, and it made me want to be free of society and the mask of myself that I show others,
like Cathy in Wuthering Heights. Sherwood Forest felt merry and made me want to make merry with my friends and be my happy self rather than my tortured self.

Newstead Abbey's gardens were pretty but much too structured and requiring much work to keep flawless. I think it was too much for Byron to handle, emotionally as well as financially. Too much structure, too much molded, too much restriction. These proper English gardens were too easily overrun with thorns and thistles. I think Byron relished the ruin as it gave him much "scope for the imagination." (I hope my kindred spirits caught that reference) Even though he began renovations with a lot of good intentions, he could never restore the house and grounds to his satisfaction, in a way that would honor his Fathers and yet still allow him the freedom of decadence. I must admit, I cannot sympathize! There is very little of Byron's whining that I can stomach; however I can see how these sculptured and molded house and grounds could make his Romantic soul long for the Scotland of his youth with its wildness and roughness.

Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains
Round their white summits though elements war
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains
I sigh for the valley of Dark Loch na Garr