And ruins bleak, and temples old, by time or age o'erthrown,
Rise up to mark where tomb-stones lie, by fun'ral weeds o'ergrown,
While struggle with their darksome shade the antique lines which show
The names and stories of the dust which mould'ring lies below.
And lakes with breast of azure tinge and reedy zones appear,
Where, 'mid surrounding meadow-lands, we whiled the vernal year,
And lowing herd and bleating flocks live in our fancy's eye.
As when in life's bright morning-time, these visions passed us by.
Where'er a touch of Nature's hand has struck one early string,
There chiefly tend those airy sprites on gay and lightsome wing.