XIV.

Monarchs, the powerful and the strong,

Famous in history and in song

Of olden time,

Saw, by the stern decrees of fate,
Their kingdoms lost, and desolate
Their race sublime.

Who is the champion? who the strong?
Pontiff and priest, and sceptred throng?
On these shall fall

As heavily the hand of death,

As when it stays the shepherd's breath

Beside his stall.

XV.

I speak not of the Trojan name, Neither its glory nor its shame

Has met our eyes;

Nor of Rome's great and glorious dead,
Though we have heard so oft and read
Their histories.

Little avails it now to know

Of ages passed so long ago,

Nor how they rolled;

Our theme shall be of yesterday,

Which to oblivion sweeps away

Like days of old.

XVI.

Where is the King Don Juan? Where

Each royal prince and noble heir

Of Arragon?

Where are the courtly gallantries?

The deeds of love and high emprise
In battle done?

Tournay and joust, that charmed the eye,
And scarf, and gorgeous panoply,

And nodding plume;

What were they but a pageant scene?
What but the garlands gay and green

That deck the tomb?

-XVII.

Where are the high-born dames, and where Their gay attire, and jewelled hair,

And odours sweet?

Where are the gentle knights, that came
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent flame
Low at their feet?

Where is the song of Troubadour ?

Where are the lute and gay tambour
They loved of yore?

Where is the mazy dance of old,

The flowing robes inwrought with gold
The dancers wore?

XVIII.

And he who next the sceptre swayed,
Henry, whose royal court displayed
Such power and pride;

O, in what winning smiles arrayed,
The world its various pleasures laid

His throne beside!

But oh! how false and full of guile,

That world, which wore so soft a smile
But to betray!

She that had been his friend before,

Now from the fated monarch tore

Her charms away.

XIX.

The countless gifts, the stately walls,The royal palaces, and halls

His other brothers proud and high,

Masters, who in prosperity

Might rival kings;

Who made the bravest and the best

The bondsmen of their high behest,
Their underlings;

What was their prosperous estate,

When high exalted and elate

With power and pride?

What, but a transient gleam of light,

A flame, which, glaring at its height,
Grew dim and died.

XXIII.

So many a duke of royal name, Marquis and count of spotless fame, And baron brave,

That might the sword of empire wield,
All these, O Death, hast thou concealed
In the dark grave!

Their deeds of mercy and of arms,
In peaceful days, or war's alarms,
When thou dost show,

O Death, thy stern and angry face,
One stroke of thy all-powerful mace
Can overthrow.

XXIV.

Unnumbered hosts that threaten nigh,
Pennon and standard flaunting high,
And flag displayed,

High battlements intrenched around,
Bastion, and moated wall, and mound,
And palisade,

And covered trench, secure and deep,

All these cannot one victim keep,

O Death, from thee,

When thou dost battle in thy wrath,

And thy strong shafts pursue their path

Unerringly.

XXV.

O World! so few the years we live,

Would that the life which thou dost give