The steed is vanished from the stall; No serf is seen in Hassan's hall; The lonely Spider's thin gray pall[dd] 290 Waves slowly widening o'er the wall; The Bat builds in his Haram bower,[74] And in the fortress of his power The Owl usurps the beacon-tower; The wild-dog howls o'er the fountain's brim, With baffled thirst, and famine, grim; For the stream has shrunk from its marble bed, Where the weeds and the desolate dust are spread. 'Twas sweet of yore to see it play And chase the sultriness of day, 300 As springing high the silver dew[de] In whirls fantastically flew, And flung luxurious coolness round The air, and verdure o'er the ground. 'Twas sweet, when cloudless stars were bright, To view the wave of watery light, And hear its melody by night. And oft had Hassan's Childhood played Around the verge of that cascade; And oft upon his mother's breast 310 That sound had harmonized his rest; And oft had Hassan's Youth along Its bank been soothed by Beauty's song; And softer seemed each melting tone Of Music mingled with its own. But ne'er shall Hassan's Age repose Along the brink at Twilight's close: The stream that filled that font is fled-- The blood that warmed his heart is shed![df] And here no more shall human voice 320 Be heard to rage, regret, rejoice. The last sad note that swelled the gale Was woman's wildest funeral wail: That quenched in silence, all is still, But the lattice that flaps when the wind is shrill: Though raves the gust, and floods the rain, No hand shall close its clasp again. On desert sands 'twere joy to scan The rudest steps of fellow man, So here the very voice of Grief 330 Might wake an Echo like relief--[dg] At least 'twould say, "All are not gone; There lingers Life, though but in one"--[dh] For many a gilded chamber's there, Which Solitude might well forbear;[75] Within that dome as yet Decay Hath slowly worked her cankering way-- But gloom is gathered o'er the gate, Nor there the Fakir's self will wait; Nor there will wandering Dervise stay, 340 For Bounty cheers not his delay; Nor there will weary stranger halt To bless the sacred "bread and salt."[di][76] Alike must Wealth and Poverty Pass heedless and unheeded by, For Courtesy and Pity died With Hassan on the mountain side. His roof, that refuge unto men, Is Desolation's hungry den. The guest flies the hall, and the vassal from labour, 350