Now marks the ruins mine.
I have met young Genius, and breathed on the brow
That bore his mystic trace—
And the cheek where passion was wont to glow
Is wrapt in my dark embrace.
They tell of a land where no blight can fall,
Where my ruthless reign is o’er—
Where the ghastly shroud, and the shadowy pall
Shall wither the soul no more.
They say there’s a home in yon blue sphere,