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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
THE RUIN.
Oh! 'tis the heart that magnifies this life,
Making a truth and beauty of its own.
Wordsworth.
Birth has gladden'd it: Death has sanctified it.
Guesses at Truth.
No dower of storied song is thine,
O desolate abode!
Forth from thy gates no glittering line
Of lance and spear hath flow'd.
Banners of knighthood have not flung
Proud drapery o'er thy walls,
Nor bugle notes to battle rung
Through thy resounding halls.
