Classic Poem

Here , till the transient shower be overblown,
Let us drive in and let our horses rest,
Well worth the while; a place of some renown,
Grand in decay, yet sombre and unblest.

See, what a lovely landscape it commands,
Half hidden in a clump of moaning pines,
Looking abroad upon the barren lands,
The wasted heritage of buried lines!

There lives no certain record of the fate —
The strange disaster that befel its lord,
Hurling him headlong from his high estate,
Remorseless, leaving neither heir nor ward.

The simple peasants hereabout maintain
The house is haunted; that on certain nights,
At twelve o'clock, as one comes up the lane,
The chamber windows dance with doubtful lights

Here silence broods — the silence of the dead!
The lizard peeps from out the fissured walls,
As if to chide our loud intrusive tread,
That scares the bats from these deserted halls.

Neglected vines, the prey of rust and blight,
Swing snake-like from the fountain's broken rim,
While headless at his post a marble knight
Still guards the postern, motionless and grim.

Where once the steps of dancers, and the roar
Of bacchanal revel drowned the midnight bell,
And hearts beat happily that beat no more,
Gaunt Desolation weaves her silent spell!

The mullen lances pierce the rotten floors
To catch the sunshine glinting through the roof,
And swinging in the solitary doors,
The hermit spider spins his filmy woof.

How sadly sounds the hollow autumn breeze,
Like some revengeful ghost that cannot rest,
But whispers up and down the balconies
The dreadful burden of its anxious breast!

Did a rash hand, by sudden wrath made bold,
Slay the late guest and bring the wasting doom?
Was it murder? It may not be told,
Or tempted from its dark enfolding gloom.

How drear it looks! Time and curse have done
A fateful mission; wherefore, none may know.
But see! the shower is past; the setting sun
Sparkles upon the town to which we go.