Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/94

94

You 've seen, perchance, some sever'd column stand At Athens or Palmyra, mid the gloom Pure, prominent, majestic,—though its base Was dark with mouldering ruins, and the dome Which once it propp'd, had yielded to the wrath Of pitiless ages.—Ye, perchance, have stood What time the pale moon bathed its lonely brow In living light, and heard the fitful winds Shriek their wild question, wherefore that remain'd When all beside were fallen. Thought ye not then Of man, who lingering at the feast of life, Perceives his heart's companions risen and gone? Is there not grief in that deep solitude Of lost companionship?— —Yet one I saw, Who in this wilderness had trod, till life, Retreating through the bloodless veins, maintain'd Faint stand at her last fortress.—His wan brow Was lightly furrow'd, and his lofty form Unbent by time, while dignified, erect, And passionless, he made the narrow round From couch to casement, and his eye beheld This world of shadowy things unmoved, as one Who was about to cast his vesture off In weariness to sleep.—His course had been O'er those proud billows, where the dazzling beam Of honour shines;—but now false Memory loosed