The Mirror in the Deserted Hall.
O dim, forsaken mirror!
How many a stately throng
Hath o’er thee gleam’d, in vanish’d hours
Of the wine-cup and the song!
The song hath left no echo;
The bright wine hath been quaff’d;
And hush’d is every silvery voice
That lightly here hath laugh’d.
O mirror—lonely mirror!
Thou of the silent hall!
Thou hast been flush’d with beauty’s bloom—
Is this, too, vanish’d all?
It is, with the scatter’d garlands
Of triumphs long ago,
With the melodies of buried lyres,
With the faded rainbow’s glow.
And for all the gorgeous pageants—
For the glance of gem and plume,
For lamp, and harp, and rosy wreath,
And vase of rich perfume—
Now, dim, forsaken mirror!
Thou givest but faintly back
The quiet stars, and the sailing moon,
On her solitary track.
And thus with man’s proud spirit
Thou tellest me ’twill be,
When the forms and hues of this world fade
From his memory, as from thee:
And his heart’s long-troubled waters
At last in stillness lie,
Reflecting but the images
Of the solemn world on high.