As to the sword rust is, so lichens are To towering citadel with which they war. Alas! for Corbus--dreary, desolate, And yet its woes the winters mitigate. It rears itself among convulsive throes That shake its ruins when the tempest blows. Winter, the savage warrior, pleases well, With its storm clouds, the mighty citadel,-- Restoring it to life. The lightning flash Strikes like a thief and flies; the winds that crash Sound like a clarion, for the Tempest bluff Is Battle's sister. And when wild and rough, The north wind blows, the tower exultant cries "Behold me!" When hail-hurling gales arise Of blustering Equinox, to fan the strife, It stands erect, with martial ardor rife, A joyous soldier! When like yelping hound Pursued by wolves, November comes to bound In joy from rock to rock, like answering cheer To howling January now so near-- "Come on!" the Donjon cries to blasts o'erhead-- It has seen Attila, and knows not dread. Oh, dismal nights of contest in the rain And mist, that furious would the battle gain, 'The tower braves all, though angry skies pour fast The flowing torrents, river-like and vast. From their eight pinnacles the gorgons bay, And scattered monsters, in their stony way, Are growling heard; the rampart lions gnaw The misty air and slush with granite maw, The sleet upon the griffins spits, and all The Saurian monsters, answering to the squall, Flap wings; while through the broken ceiling fall Torrents of rain upon the forms beneath, Dragons and snak'd Medusas gnashing teeth In the dismantled rooms. Like armored knight The granite Castle fights with all its might, Resisting through the winter. All in vain, The heaven's bluster, January's rain, And those dread elemental powers we call The Infinite--the whirlwinds that appall-- Thunder and waterspouts; and winds that shake As 'twere a tree its ripened fruit to take. The winds grow wearied, warring with the tower, The noisy North is out of breath, nor power Has any blast old Corbus to defeat, It still has strength their onslaughts worst to meet. Thus, spite of briers and thistles, the old tower Remains triumphant through the darkest hour; Superb as pontiff, in the forest shown, Its rows of battlements make triple crown; At eve, its silhouette is finely traced Immense and black--showing the Keep is placed On rocky throne, sublime and high; east, west, And north and south, at corners four, there rest Four mounts; Aptar, where flourishes the pine, And Toxis, where the elms grow green and fine; Crobius and Bleyda, giants in their might, Against the stormy winds to stand and fight, And these above its diadem uphold Night's living canopy of clouds unrolled.