Visions of Romance

When dark-brow'd midnight o'er the slumbering world
Mysterious shadows and bewildering throws,
And the tired wings of human thought are furl'd,
And sleep descends, like dew upon the rose, —
How full of bliss the poet's vigil hour,
When o'er him elder time hath magic power!
Before his eye past ages stand reveal'd,
When feudal chiefs held lordly banquettings,
In the spoils revelling of flood and field,
Among their vassals proud, unquestion'd kings:
While honour' d minstrels round the ample board
The lays of love or songs of battle pour'd.
The dinted helmet, with its broken crest,
The serried sabre, and the shatter'd shield
Hung round the wainscot, dark, and well express'd
That wild, fierce pride, which scorn' d, unscathed, to yield;
The pictures there, with dusky glory rife,
From age to age bore down stern characters of strife.
Amid long lines of glorious ancestry,
Whose eyes flash'd o'er them from the gray, old walls,
What craven quails at Danger's lightning eye?
What warrior blenches when his brother falls?
Bear witness Cressy and red Agincourt!
Bosworth, and Bannockburn, and Marston Moor!
The long, lone corridors, the antler'd hall,
The massive walls, the all-commanding towers —
Where revel reign'd, and masquerading ball,
And beauty won stern warriors to her bowers —
In ancient grandeur o'er the spirit move,
With all their forms of chivalry and love.
The voice of centuries bursts upon the soul;
Long-buried ages wake and live again;
Past feats of fame and deeds of glory roll,
Achieved for ladye-love in knighthood's reign;
And all the simple state of olden time
Assumes a garb majestic and sublime.
The steel-clad champion on his vaulting steed,
The mitred primate, and the Norman lord,
The peerless maid, awarding valour's meed,
And the meek vestal, who her God adored—
The pride, the pomp, the power and charm of earth
From fancy's dome of living thought come forth.
The feast is o'er, the huntsman's course is done,
The trump of war, the shrill horn sounds no more;
The heroic revellers from the hall have gone,
The lone blast moans the ruin'd castle o'er!
The spell of beauty, and the pride of power
Have pass'd forever from the feudal tower.
No more the drawbridge echoes to the tread
Of visor' d knights, o'ercanopied with gold;
O'er mouldering gates and crumbling archways spread,
Dark ivy waves in many a mazy fold,
Where chiefs flash'd vengeance from their lightning glance,
And grasp'd the brand, and couch'd the conquering lance.
The gorgeous pageantry of times gone by,
The tilt, the tournament, the vaulted hall,
Fades in its glory on the spirit's eye,
And fancy's bright and gay creations — all
Sink into dust, when reason's searching glance
Unmasks the age of knighthood and romance.
Like lightning hurtled o'er the lurid skies,
Their glories flash along the gloom of years;
The beacon-lights of time, to wisdom's eyes,
O'er the deep-rolling stream of human tears.
Fade! fade! ye visions of antique romance!
Tower, casque, and mace, and helm, and banner'd lance!