Then speaks the lord, and waves it light-- "This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, 'If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!'"
"'Twas right a goblet the fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! We drink deep draughts right willingly; And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!"
First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale; Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters, at last, like the thunder's fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall.
"For its keeper, takes a race of might The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; Kling! klang!--with a harder blow than all We'll try the Luck of Edenhall!"
As the goblet, ringing, flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And through the rift the flames upstart; The guests in dust are scattered all With the breaking Luck of Edenhall!
In storms the foe with fire and sword! He in the night had scaled the wall; Slain by the sword lies the youthful lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall.
On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The graybeard, in the desert hall; He seeks his lord's burnt skeleton; He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall.
"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside; Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly hall, One day, like the Luck of Edenhall!"
You came, you went, as angels go, A fleeting guest within our land. Whence and where to?--We only know: Forth from God's hand into God's hand.
Down in yon cool valley I hear a mill-wheel go: Alas! my love has left me, Who once dwelt there below.
A ring of gold she gave me, And vowed she would be true; The vow long since was broken, The gold ring snapped in two.
I would I were a minstrel, To rove the wide world o'er, And sing afar my measures, And rove from door to door;
Or else a soldier, flying Deep into furious fight, By silent camp-fires lying A-field in gloomy night.
Hear I the mill-wheel going: I know not what I will; 'Twere best if I were dying-- Then all were calm and still.
O silence, wondrous and profound! O'er earth doth solitude still reign; The woods alone incline their heads, As if the Lord walked o'er the plain.