Chapter XX

Upon the rude rock’s barren height
Shoots the pale ray of lunar light;
And, streaming round its gloomy base,
Bright beams the murky darkness chase.--
There, the intentive eye may trace
The sparkling granite’s shining grain;
The dusky flint’s conspicuous vein;
And many a fragment, rudely rent
When thunder shook the firmament.
Let the proud sons of wealth and power
In riot spend the midnight hour;
In wine dissolve their cares away,
And fain be vicious, to be gay.
Let wealth unfold her glittering store,
An hour of peace, I value more
Than mines of India’s golden ore;--
Let all her pleasures sense display,
That hour more rapture yields than they.
In such an hour, the soul is free
From shackles of mortality;
In such an hour, in scenes like this,
Reflection opes her store of bliss,
And fancy’s bright, unclouded trance
Bids, before the enraptured eyes,
Light unearthly spirits dance,
And many a fabled form arise
In recording memory’s glance.