T is not the moon-light that ye see,
That silvers the sculptured knight,
Nor e'en a flash from the sun's red shield,
That throws this unearthly light;
GASTON DE FOIX.A Sculptured Knight, by Agostino Busto.
T is not the moon-light that ye see,That silvers the sculptured knight,
Nor e'en a flash from the sun's red shield,
That throws this unearthly light;
It is not the flame of vestal lamp
Reflecting light on the dead,
Nor wandering ray from distant star,
To this gloomy vault misled.
Reflecting light on the dead,
Nor wandering ray from distant star,
To this gloomy vault misled.
Ah no—at morn, and at twilight grey,
The same weird light ye'll see,
Burnishing bright the armoured knight,
In this mocking mystery.
The same weird light ye'll see,
Burnishing bright the armoured knight,
In this mocking mystery.
Perchance the brave deeds of the dead
Shine through the marble form,
The light which the soul left when it fled,
Death could not quench, transform.
Shine through the marble form,
The light which the soul left when it fled,
Death could not quench, transform.
For ever around the sculptured bier,
Lingers this quenchless flame
Fed by a lamp that the angels hold,
To lighten him through death's dream.
Lingers this quenchless flame
Fed by a lamp that the angels hold,
To lighten him through death's dream.