Poems (Cook)/The King's old Hall

by Eliza Cook

THE KING'S OLD HALL.

Few ages since, and wild echoes awoke
In thy sweeping dome and panelling oak;
Thy seats were fill'd with a princely band,
Rulers of men and lords of the land.
Loudly they raved, and gaily they laugh'd,
O'er the golden chalice and sparkling draught;
And the glittering board and gem-studded plume
Proclaim'd thee a monarch's revelling room.

But now the spider is weaving his woof,
Making his loom of thy sculptured roof;
The slug is leaving his slimy stain,
Trailing his way o'er thy Gothic pane;
Weeds have gather'd and moss hath grown
On thy topmost ridge and lowest stone;
And the wheeling bat comes flapping his wing
On the walls that circled a banqueting king.

The idle stare and vulgar tread
May fall where the regal train was spread;
The gloomy owl may hide its nest,
And the speckled lizard safely rest.
Who were the revellers? where are their forms?
Go to the charnel, and ask of the worms.
They are low in the dust, forgotten and past,
And the pile they raised is following fast.

Oh! Man, vain Man! how futile your aim,
When building your temples to pleasure and fame!
Go, work for Heaven with Faith and Care;
Let good works secure thee a mansion there.
For the palace of pageantry crumbles away;
Its beauty and strength are mock'd by decay;
And a voice from the desolate halls of kings
Cries, "Put not your trust in corrupted things!"