MEMORY.
115
Kings and nobles I behold;
Steel-clad knights and barons bold;
Slaves and serfs, a countless band,
Throng the misty, phantom-land.
Steel-clad knights and barons bold;
Slaves and serfs, a countless band,
Throng the misty, phantom-land.
“Through cathedrals, old and dim,
Echo anthem, prayer, and hymn;
And holy priests, in flowing stoles,
Chaunt masses for departed souls.
I see the breathing forms of Art,
From the Grecian marble start;
Immortal pictures live and glow,
From Raphael and Angelo.
And voices, like the rushing blast,
Swell through this temple of the past:
Homer strikes his thrilling strings,
And to the listening ages sings;
Shakspeare’s voice joins in the chime,
Echoing through the vaults of Time;
With the two to whom ’tis given
To lift the veil that curtains Heaven.
And while these changing shades appear,
And while these voices greet mine ear,
Still, with vision backward cast,
I must mourn the vanished past.”
Echo anthem, prayer, and hymn;
And holy priests, in flowing stoles,
Chaunt masses for departed souls.
I see the breathing forms of Art,
From the Grecian marble start;
Immortal pictures live and glow,
From Raphael and Angelo.
And voices, like the rushing blast,
Swell through this temple of the past:
Homer strikes his thrilling strings,
And to the listening ages sings;
Shakspeare’s voice joins in the chime,
Echoing through the vaults of Time;
With the two to whom ’tis given
To lift the veil that curtains Heaven.
And while these changing shades appear,
And while these voices greet mine ear,
Still, with vision backward cast,
I must mourn the vanished past.”
