 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
26
THE THEBAN PLAIN.
The moon lights up the city of the dead,
The temples and the tombs of mighty kings,
And o'er the Libyan hills her lustre flings,
While on a kingdom's dust I lonely tread.
Here hearts rejoiced, or, wounded, inly bled,
Sick of the hope deferred, the grief that brings
Grey hairs—the cruel jealousy that stings—
The passionate love that yearns, and dies unfed.
The temples and the tombs of mighty kings,
And o'er the Libyan hills her lustre flings,
While on a kingdom's dust I lonely tread.
Here hearts rejoiced, or, wounded, inly bled,
Sick of the hope deferred, the grief that brings
Grey hairs—the cruel jealousy that stings—
The passionate love that yearns, and dies unfed.
“Oh, where are they,” I said, “who lived and died,—
Who wept or smiled, or knew the joys of fame?”
A cloud pass'd o'er the moon,—the faint wind sighed,
The pale stars shivered, hid their lambent flame,
And in my ears a ghostly voice replied,
“The greatest are but shadows, or—a name!”
Who wept or smiled, or knew the joys of fame?”
A cloud pass'd o'er the moon,—the faint wind sighed,
The pale stars shivered, hid their lambent flame,
And in my ears a ghostly voice replied,
“The greatest are but shadows, or—a name!”
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |