Its withering breath defiled the scene
Which else would more like Eden seem,
The haze of long past years alone
Casts shadows o’er my own old Home.
We boast, too, of a Sybil’s fame,
Though graced with but a homely name,
But never Sybil had more power,
And Sybil ne’er more honors bore;
No horrid rites she tried to show
A prophet’s skill, no charms to know,