I have read, in some old, marvellous tale, <br /> Some legend strange and vague, <br />That a midnight host of spectres pale <br /> Beleaguered the walls of Prague. <br /> <br />Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, <br /> With the wan moon overhead, <br />There stood, as in an awful dream, <br /> The army of the dead. <br /> <br />White as a sea-fog, landward bound, <br /> The spectral camp was seen, <br />And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, <br /> The river flowed between. <br /> <br />No other voice nor sound was there, <br /> No drum, nor sentry's pace; <br />The mist-like banners clasped the air, <br /> As clouds with clouds embrace. <br /> <br />But when the old cathedral bell <br /> Proclaimed the morning prayer, <br />The white pavilions rose and fell <br /> On the alarmed air. <br /> <br />Down the broad valley fast and far <br /> The troubled army fled; <br />Up rose the glorious morning star, <br /> The ghastly host was dead. <br /> <br />I have read, in the marvellous heart of man, <br /> That strange and mystic scroll, <br />That an army of phantoms vast and wan <br /> Beleaguer the human soul. <br /> <br />Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, <br /> In Fancy's misty light, <br />Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam <br /> Portentous through the night. <br /> <br />Upon its midnight battle-ground <br /> The spectral camp is seen, <br />And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, <br /> Flows the River of Life between. <br /> <br />No other voice nor sound is there, <br /> In the army of the grave; <br />No other challenge breaks the air, <br /> But the rushing of Life's wave. <br /> <br />And when the solemn and deep churchbell <br /> Entreats the soul to pray, <br />The midnight phantoms feel the spell, <br /> The shadows sweep away. <br /> <br />Down the broad Vale of Tears afar <br /> The spectral camp is fled; <br />Faith shineth as a morning star, <br /> Our ghastly fears are dead.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/beleaguered-city-the/
