The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield In two volumes |
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VISIONS OF ROMANCE. |
 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
370
VISIONS OF ROMANCE.
When dark-brow'd midnight o'er the slumbering world
Mysterious shadows and bewildering throws,
And the tired wings of human thought are furled,
And sleep descends like dew upon the rose,
How full of bliss the poet's vigil hour
When o'er him elder Time hath magic power!
Mysterious shadows and bewildering throws,
And the tired wings of human thought are furled,
And sleep descends like dew upon the rose,
How full of bliss the poet's vigil hour
When o'er him elder Time hath magic power!
Before his eye past ages stand revealed
When feudal chiefs held lordly banquettings,
In the spoil revelling of flood and field,
Among their vassals proud unquestioned kings:
While honoured minstrels round the ample board
The lays of love or songs of battle poured.
When feudal chiefs held lordly banquettings,
In the spoil revelling of flood and field,
Among their vassals proud unquestioned kings:
While honoured minstrels round the ample board
The lays of love or songs of battle poured.
Mid loud wassail and legend quaint and jest,
The horn-rimm'd goblet, pledge of heart and hand,
To knightly lips in solemn faith is pressed,
And rose-lipped mirth waits on the warrior-band,
To whom the brand and cup alike are dear,
The storm of battle and the banquet's cheer.
The horn-rimm'd goblet, pledge of heart and hand,
To knightly lips in solemn faith is pressed,
And rose-lipped mirth waits on the warrior-band,
To whom the brand and cup alike are dear,
The storm of battle and the banquet's cheer.
Throned on his dais the proud old chief looked o'er
The lengthening lines of haughty barons there,
And listened to the minstrel's rhythmic lore;
Or boon accorded to the suppliant's prayer;
Or planned the chase through wood and mountain dell,
Or roused his guests by feuds remembered well.
The lengthening lines of haughty barons there,
And listened to the minstrel's rhythmic lore;
Or boon accorded to the suppliant's prayer;
Or planned the chase through wood and mountain dell,
Or roused his guests by feuds remembered well.
371
The dinted helmet, with its broken crest,
The serried sabre and the shattered shield
Hung round the wainscot dark and well expressed
That wild, fierce pride which scorned unscathed to yield;
And pictures there with dusky glory rife
From age to age bore down stern characters of strife.
The serried sabre and the shattered shield
Hung round the wainscot dark and well expressed
That wild, fierce pride which scorned unscathed to yield;
And pictures there with dusky glory rife
From age to age bore down stern characters of strife.
Amid long lines of glorious ancestry,
Whose eyes flashed o'er them from the old gray walls,
What craven quails at danger's lightning eye?
What warrior blenches when his brother falls?
Bear witness, Crescy and red Agincourt!
Bosworth and Bannockburn and Marston Moor!
Whose eyes flashed o'er them from the old gray walls,
What craven quails at danger's lightning eye?
What warrior blenches when his brother falls?
Bear witness, Crescy and red Agincourt!
Bosworth and Bannockburn and Marston Moor!
The long lone corridors—the antlered hall—
The massive walls—the all commanding towers—
Where revel reigned and masquerading ball,
And beauty won stern warriors to her bowers—
In ancient grandeur o'er the spirit move
With all their forms of chivalry and love.
The massive walls—the all commanding towers—
Where revel reigned and masquerading ball,
And beauty won stern warriors to her bowers—
In ancient grandeur o'er the spirit move
With all their forms of chivalry and love.
The voice of centuries bursts upon the soul—
Long-buried ages wake and live again—
Past feats of fame and deeds of glory roll,
Achieved for ladye-love in knighthood's reign;
And all the simple state of olden Time
Assumes a garb majestic and sublime.
Long-buried ages wake and live again—
Past feats of fame and deeds of glory roll,
Achieved for ladye-love in knighthood's reign;
And all the simple state of olden Time
Assumes a garb majestic and sublime.
The steel-clad champion on his vaulting steed,
The mitred primate, and the Norman lord,
The peerless maid awarding valour's meed,
And the meek vestal who her God adored—
The pride, the pomp, the power and charm of earth
From Fancy's dome of living thought come forth.
The mitred primate, and the Norman lord,
The peerless maid awarding valour's meed,
And the meek vestal who her God adored—
The pride, the pomp, the power and charm of earth
From Fancy's dome of living thought come forth.
The sacred orri flamme in war's red tide
Waves mid the shivering shock of lance and brand,
And trump-like voices burst in shouts of pride
O'er foes whose blood hath stained the wasted land;
Hark! through the convent-shades triumphal songs!
Lo the rich shrine!—thus saints avenge our wrongs!
Waves mid the shivering shock of lance and brand,
And trump-like voices burst in shouts of pride
O'er foes whose blood hath stained the wasted land;
Hark! through the convent-shades triumphal songs!
Lo the rich shrine!—thus saints avenge our wrongs!
372
O'er kneeling penitents at the abbey's shrine
Absolving voices speak God's benison,
And lonely cloisters echo prayers divine
From many a holy, world-forsaking nun,
Before the image of the Crucified
Bowed in prostration of all worldly pride.
Absolving voices speak God's benison,
And lonely cloisters echo prayers divine
From many a holy, world-forsaking nun,
Before the image of the Crucified
Bowed in prostration of all worldly pride.
The pale-brow'd vestal and the dark stoled friar,
The beaded monk whose heart is in his grave,
Raise their low voices in the holy choir,
While in response the solemn yew trees wave;
And through the cloisters and lone aisles they sigh
That hope smiles not for them beneath the sky.
The beaded monk whose heart is in his grave,
Raise their low voices in the holy choir,
While in response the solemn yew trees wave;
And through the cloisters and lone aisles they sigh
That hope smiles not for them beneath the sky.
Beyond the holy walls stern warriors sleep
Who gloried in their highborn ancientry;
Whose war-steeds erst in many a desperate leap
O'er lance and spear went on right gloriously—
Carved on the tombstone, rests the brave knight's form—
Where is the knight? Ask not the battening worm!
Who gloried in their highborn ancientry;
Whose war-steeds erst in many a desperate leap
O'er lance and spear went on right gloriously—
Carved on the tombstone, rests the brave knight's form—
Where is the knight? Ask not the battening worm!
The feast is o'er, the huntsman's course is done,
The trump of war—the shrill horn sounds no more—
The heroic revellers from the hall have gone—
The lone blast moans the ruined castle o'er!
The spell of beauty and the pride of power
Have passed forever from the feudal tower.
The trump of war—the shrill horn sounds no more—
The heroic revellers from the hall have gone—
The lone blast moans the ruined castle o'er!
The spell of beauty and the pride of power
Have passed forever from the feudal tower.
No more the drawbridge echoes to the tread
Of visored knights o'ercanopied with gold,
O'er mouldering gates and crumbling archways spread,
Dark ivy waves in many a mazy fold,
Where chiefs flashed vengeance from their lightning glance,
And grasped the brand and couched the conquering lance.
Of visored knights o'ercanopied with gold,
O'er mouldering gates and crumbling archways spread,
Dark ivy waves in many a mazy fold,
Where chiefs flashed vengeance from their lightning glance,
And grasped the brand and couched the conquering lance.
But all hath not in silence perished here—
The deep, still voice of lost power will be heard;
Mysterious spectres in the gloom appear.
As still in death they would be shunned and feared;
All is not lost—the bright electric air
Glows with the spirits of the great that were!
The deep, still voice of lost power will be heard;
Mysterious spectres in the gloom appear.
As still in death they would be shunned and feared;
All is not lost—the bright electric air
Glows with the spirits of the great that were!
373
One generation from another draws
Greatness and glory added to its own;
It breathes the spirit of the primal laws,
And makes the heart a freeborn nation's throne;
Time treads in dust earth's highest pride and fame,
But thoughts of power forever are the same.
Greatness and glory added to its own;
It breathes the spirit of the primal laws,
And makes the heart a freeborn nation's throne;
Time treads in dust earth's highest pride and fame,
But thoughts of power forever are the same.
Oh, who so weak as ponder on the tomb?
The dead are nothing!—drink the mountain breeze
Or roam o'er ruins wrapt in ages' gloom,
And hoard thou well Earth's silent mysteries!
The Past is written in the lightning's glare
To bid the Future for its doom prepare.
The dead are nothing!—drink the mountain breeze
Or roam o'er ruins wrapt in ages' gloom,
And hoard thou well Earth's silent mysteries!
The Past is written in the lightning's glare
To bid the Future for its doom prepare.
The gorgeous pageantry of times gone by,
The tilt, the tournament, the vaulted hall,
Fades in its glory on the spirit's eye,
And fancy's bright and gay creations—all
Sink into dust when reason's searching glance
Unmasks the age of knighthood and romance.
The tilt, the tournament, the vaulted hall,
Fades in its glory on the spirit's eye,
And fancy's bright and gay creations—all
Sink into dust when reason's searching glance
Unmasks the age of knighthood and romance.
For fatal feuds from unknown sources sprung,
Raged unrepressed and unappeased, by tears;
And (shame to tell!) the royal minstrels sung
Oppression's pœan in those darkened years;
Then empire hung upon the arm of power,
And fate frowned o'er the dark embattled tower.
Raged unrepressed and unappeased, by tears;
And (shame to tell!) the royal minstrels sung
Oppression's pœan in those darkened years;
Then empire hung upon the arm of power,
And fate frowned o'er the dark embattled tower.
Like lightning hurtled o'er the lurid skies,
Their glories flash along the gloom of years;
The beaconlights of Time, to wisdom's eyes,
O'er the deep rolling stream of human tears.
Fade! fade! ye visions of antique Romance!
Tower, casque and mace, and helm and bannered lance!
Their glories flash along the gloom of years;
The beaconlights of Time, to wisdom's eyes,
O'er the deep rolling stream of human tears.
Fade! fade! ye visions of antique Romance!
Tower, casque and mace, and helm and bannered lance!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |