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Come to yon blasted mound
Of phantom-haunted ground,
Where spirits love to be;
And list the moody glee
Of night-windes as they moane,
And the ocean's sad replye
To the wild unhallowed tone
Of the wandering sea-bird's cry.
There sit with me and keep
Vigil when al doe sleepe;
And when the curfeu bell
Hath rung its mournfull knel,
Let us together blend
Our mutual sighes and teares,
Or chaunt some metre penned,
Of the joies of other yeares!
Or in cavern hoare and damp,
Lit by the glow-worm's lamp,
We'll muse on the dull theme
Of Life's heart-sickening dreame—
Of Time's resistlesse powre—
Of Hope's deceitful lips—
