My frame beside its father rests—
The same old banner o’er their breasts
Which they with all their serfs, of yore,
To battle and to triumph bore.
No chieftain sways the castle’s wall,
No chieftain revels in its hall.
And on each bastion’s leaning stone
Grim desolation sits alone,
While organ winds their masses roll
Around each lonely turret’s head,