46
Hoarse moving thunders roar'd a mighty knell,
The glad earth shouted as the prison fell,
The pow'rs infernal shriek'd in hollow moan,
And their grim monarch trembled on his throne.
A FAREWELL TO THE MONTH.
FAREWELL! Farewell! no rolling sun
To me shall e'er thy light restore,
And cheerfully thou go'st to seek
Thy many sisters gone before.
I would, that all unstain'd and fair.
The register that thou dost bear
Of me—might be; but yet adieu,
And if I sigh, still be thou true.
For thou to Heaven's assembled host,
Must utter what of me thou know'st.
Nay—cast not back that look of pain,
And echo not my sighs again!
