Save where, at twilight, mourners frequent tread,
Mid recent graves, o'er desolation's scene.
How changed the blissful prospect when compared,
These glooms funereal, with thy former bloom,
Thy hospitable rights when Tryon shared,
Long ere he seal'd thy melancholy doom.
That impious wretch with coward voice decreed
Defenseless domes and hallow'd fanes to dust;
Beheld, with sneering smile, the wounded bleed,
And spurr'd his bands to rapine, blood, and last.