C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Beleaguered City
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)
I
Some legend strange and vauge,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.
With the wan mood overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.
The spectral camp was seen;
And with a sorrowful, deep sound
The river flowed between.
No drum, nor sentry’s pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmèd air.
The troubled army fled;
Up rose the glorious morning star,—
The ghastly host was dead.
I have read in the marvelous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,
That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.
In Fancy’s misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.
The spectral camp is seen,
And with a sorrowful, deep sound
Flows the River of Life between.
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,
But the rushing of life’s wave.
Entreats the soul to pray,
The midnight phantoms feel the spell,
The shadows sweep away.
The spectral camp is fled;
Faith shineth as a morning star,
Our ghastly fears are dead.