 | [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet |  |
THE RUIN
Dark relic of an age gone by!
Whose mossy towers and columns grey,
Reared up against the evening sky,
Seem mighty even in decay!
The moon looks on the ragged walls,
But lights no warrior's glancing crest,
There's night and silence in those halls,
Where gauntlet hand and mailed breast
Flashed back the torches' midnight glow;
Where minstrel honors well were sought,
Where warriors at the red wine's flow,
Their dangers and their toils forgot.
Whose mossy towers and columns grey,
Reared up against the evening sky,
Seem mighty even in decay!
The moon looks on the ragged walls,
But lights no warrior's glancing crest,
There's night and silence in those halls,
Where gauntlet hand and mailed breast
Flashed back the torches' midnight glow;
Where minstrel honors well were sought,
Where warriors at the red wine's flow,
Their dangers and their toils forgot.
Helming a rock which looks in scorn
O'er ocean's darkly heaving flood,
Thy beauty, not thy grandeur gone,
Thou standest in thy solitude
The representative of years
Long sunk in time's oblivious tide—
How solemn, at this hour, appears
Thy wreck of loftiness and pride!
O'er ocean's darkly heaving flood,
Thy beauty, not thy grandeur gone,
Thou standest in thy solitude
The representative of years
Long sunk in time's oblivious tide—
How solemn, at this hour, appears
Thy wreck of loftiness and pride!
Thy lords of high renown have passed
With all their power and wealth away,
And darkly now thy ruins cast
Their shadows where the mighty lay;
Beneath whose proud and mighty tread
Thy stony floors have ceased to ring
Thy beacon tower has ceased to shed
A lustre o'er their marshalling
Of fearless bands. The hand of death
Hath chained their eagle spirits down,
And glory has not left a wreath,
The memory of the dead to crown.
With all their power and wealth away,
And darkly now thy ruins cast
Their shadows where the mighty lay;
Beneath whose proud and mighty tread
Thy stony floors have ceased to ring
Thy beacon tower has ceased to shed
A lustre o'er their marshalling
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Hath chained their eagle spirits down,
And glory has not left a wreath,
The memory of the dead to crown.
Dark-dealing men! 'twas theirs to wield
Oppressions unrelenting brand,
The power was theirs, their hearts were steeled,
And vainly groaned an injured land.
And, crumbled ruin—can I mourn
To see thy splendor thus decayed?
Or can I wish those days return
Which saw thee guard a tyrant's head?
No—for the peasant's lowly shed
Has more endearing charms for me,
Since there has peace her blessings spread,
And there is truth and liberty.
Oppressions unrelenting brand,
The power was theirs, their hearts were steeled,
And vainly groaned an injured land.
And, crumbled ruin—can I mourn
To see thy splendor thus decayed?
Or can I wish those days return
Which saw thee guard a tyrant's head?
No—for the peasant's lowly shed
Has more endearing charms for me,
Since there has peace her blessings spread,
And there is truth and liberty.
Haverhill Gazette, July 7, 1827
| [Poems by Whittier in] A Study of Whittier's Apprenticeship as a Poet | |