[I. Thou standest as a castle on a rock]
“Dzis sepy czarnem skrzydlem oblatuja groby,
Jak w miescie, ktore calkiem wybije zaraza,
Wiecznie z baszt powiewaja choragwie z'aloby.”
Mickiewicz.
“Now, black-winged vultures hover over graves,
As in a town, by wasting plague consumed,
Wave ever funeral-banners on the walls.”
Thou standest as a castle on a rock,
Dismantled, dark;—the hospitable flame
No longer lights its halls; unknown to fame,
The simple shepherd shelters there his flock.
With trumpet-peal its gilded arches rung;
Forth from its gates the lordly champions rode;
Bannered and helmed, the dazzling torrent flowed;
On tower and keep the royal standard hung.
A fire has swept along those festive halls;
Broken and toppling, reel the blackened walls;
The voice of love and hope and joy is gone.
Like funeral-flags, the raven spreads his wings;
In chambers once the proud abode of kings,
Now dwell the lizard and the owl alone.
