As slow and solemn yonder deepening knell
Tolls through the sullen evening's shadowy gloom,
Alone and pensive, in my silent room,
On man and on mortality I dwell.
And as the harbinger of death I hear
Frequent and full, much do I love to muse
On life's distemper'd scenes of hope and fear;
And passion varying her camelion hues,
And man pursuing pleasure's empty shade,
‘ Till death dissolves the vision. So the child
In youth's gay morn with wondering pleasure smil'd,
As with the shining ice well-pleas'd he play'd;
Nor, as he grasps the crystal in his play,
Heeds how the faithless bauble melts away.