Classic Poem

On the mountain's steep inclining,
Wrapt in night, the castle stands,
Lightnings in the vale are shining
Where clash keenly-glittering brands.

Brothers are the pair sustaining
Yonder grim and grisly fight;
Say, why brothers are maintaining
Thus with naked swords their right?

Lady Laura's eyes of fire
Have inflamed this brother-pair;
Love-distraught, their one desire
Is the high-born maiden fair.

Unto which of them that sue her
Does the lady's heart incline?
Ah! she cannot choose the wooer;
Sword, leap forth—the choice be thine!

And with reckless fury fighting,
Stroke on stroke like crack of doom;
Oh, beware the rash swords smiting,
Sight is tricked by such a gloom.

Woe! To Heaven their blood is calling!
Woe, oh woe, blood-crimsoned glade!
See them on the greensward falling,
Each upon a brother's blade.

Ah, how many a generation
Sleeps! what centuries have flown!
From the height, in desolation,
Still those towers watch—sad, alone.

But weird, mystic shapes are looming
Through the vale at dead of night;
And when the twelfth hour is booming
Evermore those brothers fight.