Along the stillness of the night,
Her melancholy shriekings roll.
But not alone on Irvyne’s tower,
The silver moonbeam pours her ray;
It gleams upon the ivied bower,
It dances in the cascade’s spray.
“Ah! why do darkening shades conceal
The hour, when man must cease to be?[2]
Why may not human minds unveil
The dim mists of futurity?