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ONE DAY.
The moonshine of the midnight
Is shining o'er the fane;
Where the bard awoke the morning song
He'll never wake again.
Go thou to yon lone cavern,
Where the lonely ocean sweeps,
There, silent as its darkness,
A maniac vigil keeps.
'T is the bard; his curse is on him,
His fine mind is o'erthrown,
Contempt hath jarr'd its tuneful chords,
Neglect destroy'd its tone.
These are but few from many
Of life's chequer'd scenes; yet these
Are but as all,—pride, power, hope,
Then weakness, grief, disease.
