An ancient tree that in the garden grew,
And that fair picture on the gravel threw.
Then all was silent, save the sounds that make
Silence more awful, while they faintly break;
The frighten’d bat’s low shriek, the beetle’s hum,
With nameless sounds we know not whence they come.
Such was the evening; and that ancient seat
The scene where then some neighbours chanced to meet.
Up to the door led broken steps of stone,
Whose dewy surface in the moonlight shone; 90