| |
| THE BEAUTIFUL, the powerful, and the proud, | |
| The many, and the mighty, yield to Time,— | |
| Time that, with noiseless pace and viewless wing, | |
| Glides on and on,—the despot of the world. | |
| |
| With what a glory the refulgent sun, | 5 |
| Far from the crimson portals of the west, | |
| Sends back his parting radiance: round and round | |
| Stupendous walls encompass me, and throw | |
| The ebon outlines of their traceries down | |
| Upon the dusty floor: the eastern piles | 10 |
| Receive the checkered shadows of the west | |
| In mimic lattice-work and sable hues. | |
| Rich in its mellowness, the sunshine bathes | |
| The sculptured epitaphs of barons dead | |
| Long ere this breathing generation moved, | 15 |
| Or wantoned in the garish eye of noon. | |
| The sad and sombre trophies of decay,— | |
| The prone effigies, carved in marble mail; | |
| The fair Ladye with crossed palms on her breast; | |
| The tablet gray with mimic roses bound; | 20 |
| The angled bones, the sand-glass, and the scythe,— | |
| These, and the stone-carved cherubs that impend | |
| With hovering wings, and eyes of fixedness, | |
| Gleam down the ranges of the solemn aisle, | |
| Dull amid the crimson of the waning light. | 25 |
| |
| This is a season and a scene to hold | |
| Discourse and purifying monologue, | |
| Before the silent spirit of the Past! | |
| Power built this house to Prayer,—’t was earthly power, | |
| And vanished,—see its sad mementos round! | 30 |
| The gillyflowers upon each fractured arch, | |
| And from the time-worn crevices, look down, | |
| Blooming where all is desolate. With tufts | |
| Clustering and dark, and light green trails between, | |
| The ivy hangs perennial; yellow-flowered, | 35 |
| The dandelion shoots its juicy stalks | |
| Over the thin transparent blades of grass, | |
| Which bend and flicker, even amid the calm; | |
| And, O, sad emblems of entire neglect, | |
| In rank luxuriance, the nettles spread | 40 |
| Behind the massy tablatures of death, | |
| Hanging their pointed leaves and seedy stalks | |
| Above the graves, so lonesome and so low, | |
| Of famous men, now utterly unknown, | |
| Yet whose heroic deeds were, in their day, | 45 |
| The theme of loud acclaim,—when Seton’s arm | |
| In power with Stuart and with Douglas vied. | |
| Clad in their robes of state, or graith of war, | |
| A proud procession, o’er the stage of time, | |
| As century on century wheeled away, | 50 |
| They passed; and, with the escutcheons mouldering o’er | |
| The little spot, where voicelessly they sleep, | |
| Their memories have decayed; nay, even their bones | |
| Are crumbled down to undistinguished dust, | |
| Mocking the Herald, who, with pompous tones, | 55 |
| Would set their proud array of quarterings forth, | |
| Down to the days of Chrystal and De Bruce. * * * * * | |
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