Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
LamentDenis Florence Mac Carthy (18171882)
Y
Is overthrown,
With its diamond sceptre
And golden throne;
As a time-worn stone
Its turrets are humbled—
All hath crumbled
But grief alone!
Have fled away
The dreams and hopes
Of my early day?
Ruin’d and grey
Are the towers I builded;
And the beams that gilded—
Ah, where are they?
Was fresh and bright,
With its golden noon
And its starry night:
Glad and light,
By mountain and river,
Have I bless’d the Giver
With hush’d delight.
One by one
Have pass’d like clouds
That the sun look’d on.
While morning shone,
How purple their fringes!
How ashy their tinges
When that was gone!
When the nights are damp—
As meteors are quench’d
In a stagnant swamp—
Thus Charlemagne’s camp
Where the Paladins rally,
And the Diamond valley,
And the Wonderful Lamp,
Of Ganges and Nile,
And Haroun’s rambles,
And Crusoe’s isle,
And Princes who smile
On the Genii’s daughters
’Neath the Orient waters
Full many a mile,
Of Fancy can write
Must vanish in manhood’s
Misty light;
Squire and Knight,
And damosel’s glances,
Sunny romances,
So pure and bright!
And what remains?
Life’s budding garlands
Have turn’d to chains—
Its beams and rains
Feed but docks and thistles,
And sorrow whistles
O’er desert plains.