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

244 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.

XLVII.

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 passed below;

But they who fought are in a bloody shroud,

And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,

And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow.

XLVIII.

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