And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, All tenantless, save to the crannying Wind, Or holding dark communion with the Cloud There was a day when they were young and proud; Banners on high, and battles[300] passed below; But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, And those which waved are shredless dust ere now,[ii] And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. XLVIII. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions; in proud state Each robber chief upheld his arméd halls, Doing his evil will, nor less elate Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws conquerors should have[ij][9.B.] But History's purchased page to call them great? A wider space--an ornamented grave? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave.[ik] XLIX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, What deeds of prowess unrecorded died! And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields,[301] With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Through all the mail of iron hearts would glide; But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on Keen contest and destruction near allied, And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Saw the discoloured Rhine beneath its ruin run. L. But Thou, exulting and abounding river! Making thy waves a blessing as they flow Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever Could man but leave thy bright creation so, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow[il] With the sharp scythe of conflict, then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know[302] Earth paved like Heaven--and to seem such to me,[im] Even now what wants thy stream?--that it should Lethe be. LI. A thousand battles have assailed thy banks, But these and half their fame have passed away, And Slaughter heaped on high his weltering ranks: Their very graves are gone, and what are they?[303] Thy tide washed down the blood of yesterday, And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream Glassed, with its dancing light, the sunny ray;[in] But o'er the blacken'd memory's blighting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. LII.