 | Lays of Leisure Hours |  |
LINES.
The thronged Inhabitants of these proud WallsAre still—and still the lately echoing halls,
The sounding passages and ringing floors—
Nor noise is heard of opening, closing doors,
101
The chilling hush weighs on me like a fear.
'Tis Midnight's deep and calm and awful hour,
And the fixed stillness hath a sombre power;
Shadows and Night and Silence are around,
And each and all are solemn and profound,
And one there is amongst the dwellers here,
In solitude most heavy and most drear,
Though all the Earth's thronged myriads should be there,
For him no breath should move the frozen air;
He would be still approachless and alone,
Though nations round should greet the Silent One!
Yes! One there is among the dwellers here,
Touched by no hope and shaken with no fear,
Moved by no thought and by no will impelled,
In Slumber's strictest bonds of slavery held,
A very King of Shadows and the Night,
And Solitude and Silence! yet no might
Attendeth on that King—no pomp, no state,
No mastery, no prerogative, nor weight—
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No strength, no policy, no choice, no skill,
No counsel, and no influence—no resource,
Senseless—unconscious lies the stiffening Corse!
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