How many a stately throng

Hath o’er thee gleam’d, in vanish’d hours

Of the wine-cup and the song!

The song hath left no echo;

The bright wine hath been quaff’d;

And hush’d is every silvery voice

That lightly here hath laugh’d.

O mirror—lonely mirror!

Thou of the silent hall!

Thou hast been flush’d with beauty’s bloom—