That broke so late the silence deep and dread:
From those high walls, so frowning, vast, and lone,
Back the sad notes in echoed murmurs sped.
The far-off fields heard too the solemn moan,
Where o’er the herbage night her dews had shed,
More faint and faint—till blending with the roar
Of distant flood—or winds—’tis heard no more.
A LIFE SPENT IN PURSUIT OF GLORY.
FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE.
Man’s new-born life is like the crystal rill,