88
High arches rise, abrupt and bright,
And gothic fret-work silv'ry light;
There frown dark pillars, slim and tall,
And there the mould ring turrets fall!
But, emblem true of human joys,
Rais'd in an hour, an hour destroys;
Already has the brilliant ray
Melted the fairy scene away;
No fleecy whiteness decks the ground,
No glitt'ring frost work gleams around;
All, all are gone. The swollen flood
Spreads its stain'd waters to the wood;
Each tree, with snowy crest so fair,
That rose with gay fantastic air,
Now waves its dark boughs, rough and bare;
And o'er the hills, the groves, the plains,
The dæmon Desolation reigns!
And gothic fret-work silv'ry light;
There frown dark pillars, slim and tall,
And there the mould ring turrets fall!
But, emblem true of human joys,
Rais'd in an hour, an hour destroys;
Already has the brilliant ray
Melted the fairy scene away;
No fleecy whiteness decks the ground,
No glitt'ring frost work gleams around;
All, all are gone. The swollen flood
Spreads its stain'd waters to the wood;
Each tree, with snowy crest so fair,
That rose with gay fantastic air,
Now waves its dark boughs, rough and bare;
And o'er the hills, the groves, the plains,
The dæmon Desolation reigns!
