Now stood like some sad beaten host of old
Withdrawn afar in Time’s remotest blue.
On slumberous wings the vulture held his flight;
The dove scarce heard his sighing mate’s complaint;
And, like a star slow drowning in the light,
The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hill-side crew—
Crew thrice, and all was stiller than before;
Silent, till some replying warder blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more.