WHEN high romance o'er every wood and stream First in the groves I woke the pensive lyre. To their light morrice by the restless surge. Now to my sober'd thought with life's false smiles, Too much The vagrant Fancy spreads no more her wiles, And dark forebodings now my bosom fill. ONCE more, and yet once more, I give unto my harp a dark woven lay; I heard the flood of ages pass away. Noting, gray chronicler! the silent years, I saw thee rise,-I saw the scroll complete ; The universe gave way. FRAGMENT OF AN ECCENTRIC DRAMA. WRITTEN AT A VERY EARLY AGE. THE DANCE OF THE CONSUMPTIVES. DING-DONG! ding-dong! Merry, merry, go the bells, Ding-dong! ding-dong! Over the heath, over the moor, and over the dale, "Swinging slow with sullen roar," Dance, dance away the jocund roundelay! Round the oak, and round the elm, The sentry ghost it stands aloof, Merry, merry go the bells, The sentry ghost, It keeps its post, And soon, and soon our sports must fail: But let us trip the nightly ground, While the merry, merry bells ring round. Hark! hark! the death-watch ticks! Our dance is done, Our race is run, And we must lie at the alder's feet! Ding-dong, ding-dong, Merry, merry go the bells, Swinging o'er the weltering wave! And we must seek Our deathbeds bleak, Where the green sod grows upon the grave. They vanish-The Goddess of Consumption descends, habited in a sky-blue robe, attended by mournful music. Come, Melancholy, sister mine! Cold the dews, and chill the night! Come from thy dreary shrine! The wan moon climbs the heavenly height, Troops of squalid spectres play, And the dying mortals' groan Startles the night on her dusky throne. Come, come, sister mine! Gliding on the pale moonshine: We'll ride at ease On the tainted breeze, And oh! our sport will be divine. The Goddess of Melancholy advances out of a deep glen in the rear, habited in black, and covered with a thick veil. She speaks. Sister, from my dark abode, Where nests the raven, sits the toad, Where the troops of spectres play. Lay our snares, and spread our tether! O'er many a grave, Where youth and beauty sleep together. CONSUMPTION. Come, let us speed our way! Join our hands, and spread our tether! Thou shalt smooth the way for me; O'er many a grave, Where youth and beauty sleep together. MELANCHOLY. Hist, sister, hist! who comes here? And she is thine, Now the deadliest draught prepare. CONSUMPTION. In the dismal night air dress'd, Flush her cheek, and bleach her skin, On heavenly diet, When death has deflower'd her eye. [They vanish. While Consumption speaks, Angelina enters. |