What beauteous visions filled this spot,

What dreams of pleasure long forgot?

Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear,

Have left one trace of record here.

Beneath this moldering canopy

Once shone the bright and busy eye;

But start not at the dismal void;

If social love that eye employed,

If with no lawless fire it gleamed,

But through the dews of kindness beamed,—