His dreadful voice—that time shall be no more!
Bishop Heber.
I ask’d an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs;
“Time is the warp of life,” he said, “Oh, tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!”
I ask’d the ancient, venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled;
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow’d,