Behold this ruin! 'Twas a skull
Once of ethereal spirit full!
This narrow cell was Life's retreat:
This space was Thought's mysterious seat!
What beauteous pictures fill'd this spot.
What drams of pleasure, long forgot!
Nor Love, nor Joy, nor Hope, nor Fear,
Has left one trace of record here!
Beneath this mouldering canopy,
Once shone the bright and busy eye -
But start not at the dismal void! -
If social love that eye employ'd.
If with no lawless fire it gleam'd,
But thro' the dew of kindness beam'd,
That eye shall be forever bright,
When stars and stars have lost their light!
Here, in this silent cousin hung
The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue:
If falsehoods honey it disdain'd
And where it could not praise, was chained;