Oh, the Palace look'd so great and grand When its walls stood up in giant pride; When it held the highest in the land, And its triumph-gates were flinging wide; When its turrets bore the banner'd staff, And the courtyard rung with the prancing hoof; When the dancing strain and the revel laugh Went merrily up to the spanning roof. Oh! the Palace was a noble place In its palmy days of strength and grace.
Tower and terrace have fallen low, And the banquet hall is dimly seen; Through ivy and bindweed that twine as they go In shadowy folds of gray and green. Ages have blotted the sculptured crest, The wind sings through the portal stone; It stands like an eagle's forsaken nest; Dreary and desolate, mournful and lone. The sun of its brightness for ever has set, But the lone old Palace is beautiful yet.
We may see a heart as grand and rare, Stand like the Palace in its prime; Rich in all that is noble and fair, Till stricken by Grief, as the Palace by Time. We may see the moss of a blighted trust Creeping around its pillars of joy; But amid the ruin, the gloom, and the dust, There's a glory abiding that nought can destroy: For the true heart is great in its lonely decay, As the Palace is grand in its passing away.
