Majestic in decay, that roofless pile Survives the wreck of ages, rising still A mournful beacon o'er the sea of time, The lonely record of departed years:-- Yes--those who view that ruin feel an awe Sink in the heart, like those who look on death For the first time, and hear within the soul A voice of warning whisper,--"Thus, e'en thus, All human glories perish--rent from time, And swallowed up in that unmeasured void, O'er which oblivion rolls his sable tide."-- Such thoughts as these that moss-grown pile calls forth To those who gaze upon its shattered walls, Or, musing, tread its grass-grown aisles, or pause To contemplate the wide and barren heath, Spreading in rude magnificence around, With scarce a tree or shrub to intersect Its gloomy aspect, save the noble ash That fronts the ruins, on whose hoary trunk The hurricanes of years have vainly burst, To mar its beauty;--there sublime it stands, Waving its graceful branches o'er the soil That wraps the mouldering children of the land.
The shadowy splendour of an autumn sky Was radiant with the hues of parting day; The glorious sun seemed loth to leave the west, That glowed like molten gold--a saffron sea Fretted with crimson billows, whose rich tints Gave to the rugged cliff and barren heath A ruddy diadem of living light!
Hark!--'tis the lonely genius of the place Sighs through the wind-stirred branches and bewails Its desolation to the moaning blast, That sweeps the ivy on the dark gray walls!-- No--'twas a sound of bitter agony Wrung from the depths of some o'erburdened heart, Which in life's early morning had received A sad inheritance of sighs and tears.
Starting, I turned--and seated on the ground Beside the broken altar I beheld A female figure, whose fantastic dress And hair enwreathed with sprigs of ash and yew Bespoke a mind in ruins. On her brow Despair had stamped his iron seal; her cheek Was pale as moonlight on the misty wave; Her hollow eyes were fixed on vacancy, Or wildly sent their hurried glances round With quick impatient gesture, as in quest Of some loved object, present to her mind, But shut for ever from her longing view.
The sun went down. She slowly left her seat And cast one long sad look upon the wave; Then poured the anguish of her breaking heart In a low plaintive strain of melody, That rose and died away upon the breeze, The mournful requiem of her perished hopes:--