Not in the bannered castle
Beside the gilded throne,
On fields where knightly ranks have strode,
In feudal halls--alone
The Spirit of the stately mien,
Whose presence flings a spell,
Fadeless on all around her,
In empire loves to dwell.
Gray piles and moss-grown cloisters,
Call up the shadows vast
That linger in their dim domain,
Dreams of the visioned past!
As sweep the gorgeous pageants by
We watch the pictured train,
And sigh that aught so glorious
Should be so brief and vain.
But here a spell yet deeper
Breathes from the woods and sky,
Proudlier these rocks and waters speak
Of hoar antiquity;
Here Nature built her ancient realm
While yet the world was young,
Her monuments of grandeur
Unshaken stand, and strong.
Here shines the sun of Freedom
For ever o'er the deep,
Where Freedom's heroes by the shore
In peaceful glory sleep;
And deeds of high and proud emprize
In every breeze are told,
The everlasting tribute
To hearts that now are cold.
Farewell, then, scenes so lovely,
If sunset gild your rest,
Or the pale starlight gleam upon
The water's silvery breast--
Or morning on these glad, green isles
In trembling splendour glows--
A holier spell than beauty
Hallows your pure repose!