Dark with the pomp of Death, and moving slow,
Towards that sad lair the pale Procession come
Where the Grave closes on the Night below.
2.
With dim, deep sunken eye,
Crutch'd on his staff, who trembles tottering by?
As wrung from out the shatter'd heart, one groan
Breaks the deep hush alone!
Crush'd by the iron Fate, he seems to gather
All life's last strength to stagger to the bier,