Newstead Abbey: Lord Byron Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Henry II built the Priory
As penance for the murdering of Becket
Black Friars walked the flags of this Abbey
Henry VIII by act of law, retook it
Selling the grounds and buildings to a Byron
A wild race, a mix of wit and merit
Till Mad Jack's son, a bard of fire and iron
Installed himself, with tortoise, wolf and bear
Club footed, with the courage of a lion
Drank claret from a monk's skull, which he'd share
With guests tricked out as monks in midnight black
Folk said he hosted orgies in his lair
He used the ancient hall for pistol shooting
The dining room for shuttlecock and fencing
Souls of dead monks, the Abbey's sooty rooks
Croak hoarsely. Here the Goblin Friar walks
And a white lady flits between the nooks
Outside, a splay tailed peacock preens and squawks
The Abbey's weathered earthquake, civil war
Today it opens up with tours and talks
Japanese maples, oaks, flowers from afar
Rockery, wells, swan, geese, the Eagle pool
Door to a past that's always left ajar
The River Leen flows sweetly, soft and cool
Here, Byron's English half showed its persona
A complex mix of passion and misrule
The thistle and the rose, twinned in one stem
Most controversial, talented of men