The Ancient Portrait.

It hung alone, in massive time-tinged frame,1
Upon the corridor’s dark oaken side,2
And sunbeams through the antique casement came,3
To kiss the face that beamèd like a bride.4
Though time had breathed o’er it a shadowy haze,5
And though her garb of olden time seemed quaint,6
Yet pure as e’en, suffused with Sol’s rich rays,7
Shone her sweet smiles from forth the lifeless paint.8
What knightly heart by those dark eyes enthralled,9
The tourney’s strife hath borne, and won the day,10
The vict’ry his, and more, his to be called11
Her champion, his the rosy ribbon gay.12
What sports afield, upon her palfrey gray,13
Hath she enjoyed ; oft may that portrayed hand14
Have tossed th’ unhooded falcon at its prey,15
And the pathetic, trembling harp-strings spanned.16
But Luna oft the bosom of the lake17
Hath silvered with her fairy gild since she18
Her dwelling changed, whence she will never wake,19
To chase the deer across the autumn lea.20
The chapel now a sculptured form contains,21
Its hands are closed in prayer, its gaze upturned,22
And in the vault, where chilly blackness reigns,23
Lies the dark lamp that once with beauty burned.24