THE HAUNTED PALACE.In the greenest of our valleysBy good angels tenanted,Once a fair and stately palace—Radiant palace—reared its head.In the monarch Thought’s dominion—It stood there!Never seraph spread a pinionOver fabric half so fair.Banners yellow, glorious, golden,On its roof did float and flow,(This—all this—was in the oldenTime long ago,)And every gentle air that dallied,In that sweet day,Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,A winged odour went away.Wanderers in that happy valley,Through two luminous windows, sawSpirits moving musically,To a lute’s well-tuned law,Round about a throne where, sitting(Porphyrogene)In state his glory well befitting,The ruler of the realm was seen.And all with pearl and ruby glowingWas the fair palace door,Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,And sparkling evermore,A troop of Echoes, whose sweet dutyWas but to sing,In voices of surpassing beauty,The wit and wisdom of their king.But evil things, in robes of sorrow,Assailed the monarch’s high estate.(Ah, let us mourn!—for never sorrowShall dawn upon him desolate!)And round about his home the gloryThat blushed and bloomed,Is but a dim-remembered storyOf the old time entombed.And travellers, now, within that valley,Through the red-litten windows seeVast forms, that move fantasticallyTo a discordant melody,While, lie a ghastly rapid river,Through the pale doorA hideous throng rush out foreverAnd laugh—but smile no more.1838.
In the greenest of our valleysBy good angels tenanted,Once a fair and stately palace—Radiant palace—reared its head.In the monarch Thought’s dominion—It stood there!Never seraph spread a pinionOver fabric half so fair.Banners yellow, glorious, golden,On its roof did float and flow,(This—all this—was in the oldenTime long ago,)And every gentle air that dallied,In that sweet day,Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,A winged odour went away.Wanderers in that happy valley,Through two luminous windows, sawSpirits moving musically,To a lute’s well-tuned law,Round about a throne where, sitting(Porphyrogene)In state his glory well befitting,The ruler of the realm was seen.And all with pearl and ruby glowingWas the fair palace door,Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,And sparkling evermore,A troop of Echoes, whose sweet dutyWas but to sing,In voices of surpassing beauty,The wit and wisdom of their king.But evil things, in robes of sorrow,Assailed the monarch’s high estate.(Ah, let us mourn!—for never sorrowShall dawn upon him desolate!)And round about his home the gloryThat blushed and bloomed,Is but a dim-remembered storyOf the old time entombed.And travellers, now, within that valley,Through the red-litten windows seeVast forms, that move fantasticallyTo a discordant melody,While, lie a ghastly rapid river,Through the pale doorA hideous throng rush out foreverAnd laugh—but smile no more.
1838.