And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay,
Pause at her martyr’s tomb, and read the lay.
Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale
It darkly hints a melancholy tale!
There, as the homeless madman sits alone,
In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan!
And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds,
When the Moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds.
Poor lost Alonzo! Fate’s neglected child!
Mild be the doom of Heaven—as thou wert mild!