And crumbled to ruin the courtyards that shone
With chivalry's gorgeous array;
And where music, and laughter so often have rung,
In thy tapestried halls, now the ivy hath flung
A mantle to hide their decay.
Through the hush of thy lone haunts I wander again,
Where these time-hallow'd relics, familiar remain,
As if charmed into magic repose;
The pass subterraneous,—the fathomless well,
The mound whence the violet peeps—and the cell