Here, where a hero fell, a column falls! 
  Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
  A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat! 
  Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
  Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle! 
  Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
  Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
  Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
  The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

  But stay! these walls—­these ivy-clad arcades—­
  These mouldering plinths—­these sad and blackened shafts—­
  These vague entablatures—­this crumbling frieze—­
  These shattered cornices—­this wreck—­this ruin—­
  These stones—­alas! these gray stones—­are they all—­
  All of the famed, and the colossal left
  By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

  “Not all”—­the Echoes answer me—­“not all! 
  Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
  From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
  As melody from Memnon to the Sun. 
  We rule the hearts of mightiest men—­we rule
  With a despotic sway all giant minds. 
  We are not impotent—­we pallid stones. 
  Not all our power is gone—­not all our fame—­
  Not all the magic of our high renown—­
  Not all the wonder that encircles us—­
  Not all the mysteries that in us lie—­
  Not all the memories that hang upon
  And cling around about us as a garment,
  Clothing us in a robe of more than glory.”

1838.

* * * * *

THE HAUNTED PALACE.

  In the greenest of our valleys
    By good angels tenanted,
  Once a fair and stately palace—­
    Radiant palace—­reared its head. 
  In the monarch Thought’s dominion—­
    It stood there! 
  Never seraph spread a pinion
    Over fabric half so fair!

  Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
    On its roof did float and flow,
  (This—­all this—­was in the olden
    Time long ago),
  And every gentle air that dallied,
    In that sweet day,
  Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
    A winged odor went away.

  Wanderers in that happy valley,
    Through two luminous windows, saw
  Spirits moving musically,
    To a lute’s well-tuned law,
  Bound about a throne where, sitting
    (Porphyrogene!)
  In state his glory well befitting,
    The ruler of the realm was seen.

  And all with pearl and ruby glowing
    Was the fair palace door,
  Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
    And sparkling evermore,
  A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
    Was but to sing,
  In voices of surpassing beauty,
    The wit and wisdom of their king.

  But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
    Assailed the monarch’s high estate. 
  (Ah, let us mourn!—­for never morrow
    Shall dawn upon him desolate !)
  And round about his home the glory
    That blushed and bloomed,
  Is but a dim-remembered story
    Of the old time entombed.