XIII.
The sun goes down in beauty—his farewell,
Unlike the world he leaves, is calmly bright;
And his last mellow’d rays around us dwell,
Lingering, as if on scenes of young delight.
They smile and fade—but, when the day is o’er,
What slow procession moves with measured tread?—
Lo! those who weep, with her who weeps no more,
A solemn train—the mourners and the dead!
While, throned on high, the moon’s untroubled ray
Looks down, as earthly hopes are passing thus away.