Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/301

Home of the mighty! thou art lone,
The noonday of thy pride is gone,
And 'midst thy solitude profound,

A step shall echo like unearthly sound!

From thy cold hearths no festal blaze,
    Shall fill the hall with ruddy light,
Nor welcome, with convivial rays,
    Some pilgrim of the night;
But there shall grass luxuriant spread,
As o'er the dwellings of the dead;
And the deep swell of every blast,

Seem a wild dirge for years of grandeur past.

And I—my joy of life is fled,
    My spirit's power, my bosom's glow,
The raven-locks that graced my head,
    Wave in a wreath of snow!
And where the star of youth arose,
I deemed life's lingering ray should close,