The phantoms frail its folly could believe?
Ah! not in poesy alone doth dwell
That charm fantastic! but whate’er may seem
Truth in this being vain—or hope or rest,
Is falsehood all—life is a fevered dream!
A pageant wild, where none are truly blest.
FRAGMENT FROM “ILDEGONDA.”
Serene the heavens—while in the deep blue sky
The moon rode forth, and poured her silvery light,
Within the turret’s shadow wandering nigh,