As though to hide the signs of their decay;
The cheerless chambers echo with each sound
That enters in where Silence holds her sway.
Upon the ground, with torn and riven crust,
There rests the cuirass of some daring knight,
Enfolding but the cold, unspeaking dust
Of him who nevermore shall lead the fight.
And here the chariot-furrowed roadway lies,
Once trod by armies rich in valorous deeds,
Now haunted by the lonely wind which sighs