Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/280

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There Harold gazes on a work divine,
A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells.[1]


And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind,
Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd,
All tenantless, save to the crannying Wind,
Or holding dark communion with the Cloud
There was a day when they were young and proud;
Banners on high, and battles[2] passed below;
But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,
And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,[3]
And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.


Beneath these battlements, within those walls,
Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state
Each robber chief upheld his arméd halls,

Doing his evil will, nor less elate
  1. From gray and ghastly walls—where Ruin kindly dwells.—[MS.]
  2. [For the archaic use of "battles" for "battalions," compare Macbeth, act v. sc. 4, line 4; and Scott's Lord of the Isles, vi. 10—

    "In battles four beneath their eye,
    The forces of King Robert lie."]

  3. ——are shredless tatters now.—[MS.]