The Ruin

Wondrous is its wall-stone laid waste by the fates.
The burg-steads are burst, broken the work of the giants.
The roofs are in ruins, rotted away the towers,
The fortress-gate fallen, with frost on the mortar.
Broken are the battlements, low bowed and decaying,
Eaten under by age. The earth holds fast
The master masons: low mouldering they lie
In the hard grip of the grave, till shall grow up and perish
A hundred generations. Hoary and stained with red,
Through conquest of kingdoms, unconquered this wall endured,
Stood up under storm. The high structure has fallen.
Still remains its wall-stone, struck down by weapons.
They have fallen . . . . . . . . .
Ground down by grim fate . . . . . . . .
Splendidly it shone . . . . . . . .
The cunning creation . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . from its clay covering is bent;
Mind . . . . . . the swift one drawn.
The bold ones in counsel bound in rings
The wall-foundations with wires, wondrously together.
Bright were the burgher's homes, the bath halls many,
Gay with high gables --a great martial sound,
Many mead-halls, where men took their pleasure,
Till an end came to all, through inexorable fate.
The people all have perished; pestilence came on them:
Death stole them all, the staunch band of warriors.
Their proud works of war now lie waste and deserted;
This fortress has fallen. Its defenders lie low,
Its repairmen perished. Thus the palace stands dreary,
And its purple expanse; despoiled of its tiles
Is the roof of the dome. The ruin sank to earth,
Broken in heaps --there where heroes of yore,
Glad-hearted and gold-bedecked, in gorgeous array,
Wanton with wine-drink in war-trappings shone:
They took joy in jewels and gems of great price,
In treasure untold and in topaz-stones,
In the firm-built fortress of a far-stretching realm.
The stone courts stood; hot streams poured forth,
Wondrously welled out. The wall encompassed all
In its bright embrace. Baths were there then,
Hot all within --a healthful convenience.
They let then pour . . . . . . . . . .
Over the hoary stones the heated streams,
Such as never were seen by our sires till then.
Hringmere was its name . . . . . . . . . .
The baths were there then; then is . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . That is a royal thing
In a house . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .