St. Irvyne's Tower
How swiftly through Heaven's wide expanseBright day's resplendent colours fade!How sweetly does the moonbeam's glanceWith silver tint St. Irvyne's glade!
No cloud along the spangled air,Is borne upon the evening breeze;How solemn is the scene! how fairThe moonbeams rest upon the trees!
Yon dark gray turret glimmers white,Upon it sits the mournful owl;Along the stillness of the night,Her melancholy shriekings roll.
But not alone on Irvyne's tower,The silver moonbeam pours her ray;It gleams upon the ivied bower,It dances in the cascade's spray.
'Ah! why do dark'ning shades concealThe hour, when man must cease to be?Why may not human minds unveilThe dim mists of futurity?--
'The keenness of the world hath tornThe heart which opens to its blast;Despised, neglected, and forlorn,Sinks the wretch in death at last.'
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