Sir Aubrey De Vere - Kilmallock lyrics

What ruined shapes of feudal pomp are there, In the cold moonlight fading silently? The castle, with its stern, baronial air, Still frowning, as accustomed to defy; The Gothic street, where Desmond's chivalry Dwelt in their pride; the cloistered house of prayer; The gate-towers, mouldering where the stream moans by, Now, but the owl's lone haunt, and fox's lair. Here once the pride of princely Desmond flushed; His courtiers knelt, his mailed squadrons rushed; And saintly brethren poured the choral strain: Here Beauty bowed her head, and smiled and blushed:-- Ah, of these glories what doth now remain? The charnel of yon desecrated fane!