Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/72

 THE POET'S GRAVE. 'TwAs midnight; the wan moon-beam threw O'er passing clouds a sickly hue, Prophetic of the storm; Low murmurs sigh'd from wind and wave, When, on the Bard's untimely grave, With grief, and mingled awe, I flung my prostrate form. Well with the temper of my mind The wild and mournful scene combin'd, The melancholy sound; Awhile in silence lost I lay, Till, with the lig. htning's glaring ray, The feelings of my heart unbidden utt'rance found. Swift as yon vivid flash, that flies Across the bleak, tempestuous skies, Once seen, beheld no more; ......... Google

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