82
POEMS BY CLARA A. MERRILL
Yet by the rushing waters
That sweep adown the strand;
A silent, rugged spectre
The grim old ruins stand.
That sweep adown the strand;
A silent, rugged spectre
The grim old ruins stand.
The bleak walls, rent and jagged,—
As mountain walls might frown
That thro' convulsive earthquake
Its crest had swallowed down.
As mountain walls might frown
That thro' convulsive earthquake
Its crest had swallowed down.
The winds, thro' crevice wailing
In sweetly plaintive air,
A perpetual dirge descanteth
For him, who perished there.
In sweetly plaintive air,
A perpetual dirge descanteth
For him, who perished there.
Thro' all the years now vanished,
Neglected and forlorn;
It stands alone, and mutely
Bespeaks of days agone.
Neglected and forlorn;
It stands alone, and mutely
Bespeaks of days agone.
No loom or wheel is busy—
Revolving band ne'er whirrs—
No "Factory bell" each morning
The village folk bestirs.
Revolving band ne'er whirrs—
No "Factory bell" each morning
The village folk bestirs.
