29.12.2010, 18:42
VIENNA AND IN MEMORIAM.
Roused by the war-note, in review I pass'd
The polities of nations—their intrigues —
Their long-drawn wars and hates—their loves and leagues ;
But when I came on sad Vienna, last,
Her scroll of annals, timidly unroU'd,
Ran backward from my helpless hands ! the woe
Of that one hour that laid our Arthur low.
Made all her chronicle look blank and cold :
Then turn'd I to that Book of memory,
Which is to grieving hearts like the sweet south
To the parch'd meadow, or the dying tree ;
Which fills with elegy the craving mouth
Of sorrow—slakes with song her piteous drouth.
And leaves her calm, though weeping silently !
Roused by the war-note, in review I pass'd
The polities of nations—their intrigues —
Their long-drawn wars and hates—their loves and leagues ;
But when I came on sad Vienna, last,
Her scroll of annals, timidly unroU'd,
Ran backward from my helpless hands ! the woe
Of that one hour that laid our Arthur low.
Made all her chronicle look blank and cold :
Then turn'd I to that Book of memory,
Which is to grieving hearts like the sweet south
To the parch'd meadow, or the dying tree ;
Which fills with elegy the craving mouth
Of sorrow—slakes with song her piteous drouth.
And leaves her calm, though weeping silently !