Elegy

Dreary and dark, in autumn’s wane, The mournful evening falls, And hollow winds and chilling rain Beat fast upon the walls.

From the drench’d caves’ incumbent tops, With wet and weltering sound, At intervals, the heavy drops Plash on the wat’ry ground.

Time was, ah, well-remember’d time! When wintry blasts severe, More welcome than the vernal prime, Were music to my ear.

When many an evening’s stormy hour, Emillia, pass’d with thee, I thank’d the rain, and wind’s loud roar, That banish’d all but me.

Now my sick soul these wintry glooms Oppress with cruel sway, Since my life’s light no more illumes Dark eve, or sullen day.

With folded arms, by waning fires, I hear the howling wind, And sigh that faithful fond desires Congenial winter find.

Yes, long I sit by waning fires, And heavy eave-drops count; My heart no sprightlier sound requires, Or listless spirits want.

For sprightly sounds discordant rise, Where cherish’d woes are dear, They but insult the lover’s sighs, Insult his starting tear.

Yet, yet my soul might better bear These absent weeks forlorn, Did not presaging clouds of fear Lour on thy wish’d return.

Authority’s yet dreaded power, Goaded by busy foes, May wait on that eventful hour, And bring a train of woes.

Beneath this dread, by waning fires, I muse the night away; This dread, that ’gainst my peace conspires, Resist it as I may.

O! let thy pen my throbbing heart With softest balm assuage, And better hopes, with love impart, To chase the sad presage!

So shall I bless the minutes’ course, How slow soe’er they move, Since bring they must the day, perforce, That gives me back my love.