Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Lo! A strange town lying alone Death has reared himself a throne Far down in the West, Where the good, bad, worst and best Have gone to their eternal rest There, shrines and towers Death has reared himself a throne (Time-eaten towers and tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours
Down, down in that town, shall settle hence, Hell, rising from its throne, No earthly moans, shall do it reverance.
No rays from the Heaven coming down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently— Gleams up the pinnacles far and free— Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls— Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls—
No swellings tell that winds may be, Upon some far-off happy seas— No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave—there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide— Aquiescently beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie The waves have now a redder glow— The hours are breathing faint and low— And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
Down, down in that town, shall settle hence, Hell, rising from its throne, No earthly moans, shall do it reverence.
There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol’s diamond eye— Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; So blend the turrets, shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a tower in the town Death looks down.
But lo, a stir is in the air! The waved now have a redder glow— The hours are breathing faint and low— And when amid no earthly moans, Down, down in that town, shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. Far down within the dim West. Where the good and bad the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. Waves have now a red glow— Hours breathe low, no men moan—Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
