In sad procession moves along,
Lorn Loves inverted torches bear,
And Pity weeps o’er Vernon’s bier.
To shade the distant ground, and lay
The rising group in bolder day,
A Dryad chalks some dusky strokes,—
Behind umbrageous frown her oaks!
And Swilcar, rent by many a storm,
Rears high in air his leafless form.
Pleas’d Mundy stood with eager eyes,