All, all are gone! These ruins tell
Of generations now no more;
Phantoms—passed from this world to dwell
Upon Oblivion's mystic shore!
THE LAKE.
The sun is setting, and its golden rays
Are streaming over yon fair lake, which seems
Calm, as the cherub smile that sweetly plays
Around the lips of infancy, while dreams
Of placid joys their guardian angels send.
Yon skiff, scarce moving on it glassy breast,
Reflected there, seems with its wave to blend.
The winds are hushed ; nature appears to rest;
And the lone hills around seem to look down
Protectingly upon the tranquil scene.
The craggy heights have lost their gloomy frown,
And every little scattered patch of green
Stands forth in strong relief, beneath the light
Shed by the glorious orb, whose parting beams
Shine with fresh splendour ere they fade in night,
Or yield to the pale moon's uncertain gleams.
So must all Beauty—Pleasure—Glory—fade,
Like the bright tints of yonder gorgeous sky—
Till man, lost for a time 'midst Death's cold shade,
Shall rise to realms of endless day on high.
THE CHURCHYARD.
Behold—how the warm floods of amber light
Poured from yon gold and crimson clouds, illume
That lonely church's venerable dome—
And to its ivy -covered walls, a bright
And cheerful aspect lend! The dark yews smile
Beneath that glow, and every marble tomb
It gilds. Even from th' abode of Death, its gloom
The sunset hour hath power to chase awhile.
But through the damp, cold earth, no ray can steal
To shine upon the coffin's blackened lid,
Or with its sparkling light the sleepers wake.
No—never more their mouldering forms shall feel
That sunset glow—within the deep grave hid—
The last dread trump alone their rest shall break!
