SONNET TO A TAPER.

'Tis midnight. On the globe dead slumber sits, And all is silence—in the hour of sleep; Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits, In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep. I wake alone to listen and to weep, To watch my taper, thy pale beacon burn; And, as still Memory does her vigils keep, To think of days that never can return. By thy pale ray I raise my languid head, My eye surveys the solitary gloom; And the sad meaning tear, unmix'd with dread, Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb. Like thee I wane;—like thine my life's last ray Will fade in loneliness, unwept, away.