And the deep swell of every blast
Seem a wild dirge for years of grandeur past.
“And I—my joy of life is fled,
My spirit’s power, my bosom’s glow;
The raven locks that graced my head,
Wave in a wreath of snow!
And where the star of youth arose
I deem’d life’s lingering ray should close,
And those loved trees my tomb o’ershade,
Beneath whose arching bowers my childhood play’d.