Page:The Domestic Affections, and Other Poems.pdf/88



How still thy sleep! as death profound, As if, within this lonely round, A step—a note—a whisper'd sound, Had ne'er arous'd thy voice!

Thou hear'st the zephyr murmuring, dying, Thou hear'st the foliage waving, sighing; But ne'er again shall harp, or song, These dark, deserted courts along, Disturb thy calm repose; The harp is broke, the song is fled, The voice is hush'd, the bard is dead; And never shall thy tones repeat, Or lofty strain, or carol sweet, With plaintive close!

Proud castle! tho' the days are flown, When once thy tow'rs in glory shone; When music thro' thy turrets rung, When banners o'er thy ramparts hung,