I.
They die--the dead return not--Misery
Sits near an open grave and calls them over,
A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye--
They are the names of kindred, friend and lover,
Which he so feebly callsthey all are gone--
Fond wretch, all dead! those vacant names alone,
This most familiar scene, my pain--
These tombsalone remain.
II.
Misery, my sweetest friendoh, weep no more!
Thou wilt not be consoledI wonder not!
For I have seen thee from thy dwellings door
Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot
Was even as bright and calm, but transitory,
And now thy hopes are gone, thy hair is hoary;
This most familiar scene, my pain--
These tombsalone remain.