AND the night was dark and calm,
There was not a breath of air,
The leaves of the grove were still,
As the presence of death were there;
The muffled drum rolled on the air,
Warriors, with stately step, were there;
On every arm was the black crape bound,
LITTLE the present careth for the past,
Too little—'tis not well!
For careless ones we dwell
Beneath the mighty shadow it has cast.
AY, surely it is here that Love should come,
And find, (if he may find on earth), a home;
Here cast off all the sorrow and the shame
HE stood by the river's side
A conqueror and a king,
None match'd his step of pride
Amid the armed ring.
CALL to mind your loveliest dream,--
When your sleep is lull'd by a mountain stream,
When your pillow is made of the violet,
DIM thro' the sculptured aisles the sunbeam falls
More like a dream
Of some imagined beam,
Than actual daylight over mortal walls.
WHAT is there that the world hath not
Gathered in yon enchanted spot?
Where, pale, and with a languid eye,
The fair Sultana listlessly
LIKE some vision olden
Of far other time,
When the age was golden,
In the young world's prime
MARK you not yon sad procession;
'Mid the ruin'd abbey's gloom,
Hastening to the worm's possession,
To the dark and silent tomb!