 | The forest minstrel |  |
THE RUINED HEART.
There is a noble temple, which of yore
Was glorious, with a sumptuous garniture
Of shining tapestry, embroidered o'er
With ever-changing magic portraiture.
Was glorious, with a sumptuous garniture
Of shining tapestry, embroidered o'er
With ever-changing magic portraiture.
All lovely and exalted things of earth,
Each touched with glory beaming from on high,
Shifting in beauty, as the gorgeous folds
Were moved by breezes voiced with melody.
Each touched with glory beaming from on high,
Shifting in beauty, as the gorgeous folds
Were moved by breezes voiced with melody.
And there was wreathing up for evermore
Rich incense from pure censers of fine gold,
Where all sweet thoughts assembled to adore,
And touch the sacred fire with bliss untold.
Rich incense from pure censers of fine gold,
Where all sweet thoughts assembled to adore,
And touch the sacred fire with bliss untold.
Then in that temple all was light and joy,
And melody and beauty mingled there;
Now, come and look how dark, how desolate,
How cold, how voiceless, all its chambers are!
And melody and beauty mingled there;
Now, come and look how dark, how desolate,
How cold, how voiceless, all its chambers are!
Long since the bitter waters of despair
Quenched out the fire upon that altar-stone,
And mourning spread her pall of midnight there,
And music died in one low quivering moan.
Quenched out the fire upon that altar-stone,
And mourning spread her pall of midnight there,
And music died in one low quivering moan.
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Yet oft at nightfall to the bolted door
Sweet shadowy groups of spirit memories come,
The dear familiar faces shaded o'er
With tender sadness by the twilight gloom.
Sweet shadowy groups of spirit memories come,
The dear familiar faces shaded o'er
With tender sadness by the twilight gloom.
They linger sadly round the ruined place,
And plead for entrance with a low sweet tone;
But angels cross that threshold never more,
And Echo answers—“I am here alone!”
And plead for entrance with a low sweet tone;
But angels cross that threshold never more,
And Echo answers—“I am here alone!”
| The forest minstrel | |