© Tom Byrne
Author: Tom Byrne
Trentham, awake! for the sky is clear,
Trentham awake! for the dawn is near,
Slumber no longer in dim decay,
Trentham awake now and greet the day!
Look up now, Trentham, for in thy sky
The swans, the geese and the wild duck fly
Across the Fern Hills, the western plain,
High over Hanchurch and back again.
And a thousand blossoms now greet the dawn
And a million million more as yet unborn,
As from the Fern Hills the breath of May
Shall chase cold February and March away!
A Priory rose, and holy men
Long laboured there with spade and pen.
Across her meadows their Vespers ring,
Until that murderous and adulterous king.
His sycophants, a ruffian band,
Now crushed the Priory and seized her land;
And on thy hill, aloof, alone,
One stands there still with a heart of stone.
Yet the Hall at Trentham shall arise once more
And front her Gardens as she did before.
Her tranquil lake of silver sheen
O'er-canopied in banks of green.
Now o'er thy threshold the people pour,
They come to see thee as they came before;
No more forgotten and forlorn,
Trentham awake now! and greet the morn.