Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/492

SHADOW-LAND Their grisly chieftain comes:

He steals upon us in the night;

Call up the guards! light every light!

Beat the alarum drums!

His tramp is at the outer door;

He bears against the shuddering walls;

Lo! what a dismal frost and hoar

Upon the window falls!

Outbar him while ye may!

Feed, feed the watch-fires everywhere,—

Even yet their cheery warmth will scare

This thing of night away.

Ye cannot! something chokes the grate

And clogs the air within its flues,

And runners from the entrance-gate

Come chill with evil news:

The bars are broken ope!

Ha! he has scaled the inner wall!

But fight him still, from hall to hall;

While life remains, there's hope.

Too late! the very frame is dust,

The locks and trammels fall apart;

He reaches, scornful of their trust,

The portals of the heart.

Ay, take the citadel!

But where, grim Conqueror, is thy prey?

In vain thou 'lt search each secret way,

Its flight is hidden well.

We yield thee, for thy paltry spoils,

This shell, this ruin thou hast made;

Its tenant has escaped thy toils,

Though they were darkly laid. 462