TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village-green, All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! Mark yon old Mansion frowning thro' the trees, Long may the ruin spare its hallowed guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once, in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate. Now stained with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweetened every meal with social glee. The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest; And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound; And turned the blindfold hero round and round. 'Twas here, at eve, we formed our fairy ring; And Fancy fluttered on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chained each wondering ear; And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Murdered by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro' their dust, Starting to life-all whisper of the Past! C |