 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
V.
O, 'twas the moment of alarms,When all the soul was up in arms,
And ready to reveal
What, at all other times, it wou'd
In sorrow's avaricious mood,
Eternally conceal.
“ 'Tis well! ye blasts, roll on, rage, blow!
“Deride me with remembered woe,
“Ye authors of my misery—
“My Brother! thou wert all to me!
“Then, since thou 'rt lost, let pristine gloom,
“And Chaos old, their sway resume!
“'Tis sweet, to think in Winter-nights
“Upon returning May —
“'Tis sad! to muse o'er past delights,
“For ever past away!
“Yet still my thoughts will ponder on
“The joys that are for ever gone.
| The Legend of St. Loy | |