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SOLD_Newstead Abbey

Painting by Kris Mercer

  • Mixed media, Canvas
  • One of a kind artwork
  • Size: 24″ x 36″ (actual image size)
  • This artwork is sold unframed

Description

Newstead Abbey – mixed media painting on canvas.

Mixed media on canvas in a lightweight black frame. Protected with polymer satin varnish. It is supplied ready to hang, fitted with ‘D’ rings and picture cord.

Signed on the back.
Complete with Certificate of Authenticity
The canvas is covered in pages torn from an old tattered book of poetry by Lord Byron before the image is painted on top and then sealed with a polymer varnish.

Below is the poem that this piece was based on.

On leaving 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.

Of the mail-cover’d Barons, who, proudly, to battle,
Led their vassals from Europe to Palestine’s plain,
The escutcheon and shield, which with ev’ry blast rattle,
Are the only sad vestiges now that remain.

No more doth old Robert, with harp-stringing numbers,
Raise a flame, in the breast, for the war-laurell’d wreath;
Near Askalon’s towers, John of Horistan slumbers,
Unnerv’d is the hand of his minstrel, by death.

Paul and Hubert too sleep in the valley of Cressy;
For the safety of Edward and England they fell:
My Fathers! the tears of your country redress ye:
How you fought! how you died! still her annals can tell.

On Marston, with Rupert, ‘gainst traitors contending,
Four brothers enrich’d, with their blood, the bleak field;
For the rights of a monarch their country defending,
Till death their attachment to royalty seal’d.

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant departing
From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu!
Abroad, or at home, your remembrance imparting
New courage, he’ll think upon glory and you.

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation,
‘Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;
Far distant he goes, with the same emulation,
The fame of his Fathers he ne’er can forget.

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish;
He vows that he ne’er will disgrace your renown:
Like you will he live, or like you will he perish;
When decay’d, may he mingle his dust with your own!

1803.

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