Ballade of Vain Hopes
O ghosts of Bygone Hours, that stand
Upon the marge of yonder shore
Where by the pale feet-trampled sand
(Though none is seen to walk that floor)
The Stygian wave flows evermore:
We fain would buy what ye can tell,
Speak! Speak! And thrill to each heart’s core—
Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!
O spectral Hours that throng this land—
Where no sweet floods of sunshine pour,
But vast, tenebriously grand,
Dense glooms abide, wind-swept or frore—
O ye who thus have gone before,
Break silence—break your charmëd spell!
Heed not our negligence of yore!
Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!
O sombre, sad-eyed, shadowy band,
Speak, speak, and wave not o’er and o’er
Each wan phantasmal shadow-hand;
O say, if when with battling sore
We cross the flood and hear the roar
O’ the world like a sighed farewell,
What waits beyond the Grave’s last door?
Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!
Envoy.
O coming Hours, O unspent store,
Your promise breathe—as in sea-shell
Imprison’d Echo sings her lore—
Vain Hopes are all we have to sell!
William Sharp.