Its white walls shadowed through the leafless wood;
The once arched woodbine waving wild and bare;
The parterre, erst the object of his care,
With early weeds o'ergrown; and slow decay
Had changed or swept all else he loved away.
Upon the sacred threshold, once his own,
He silent stood, unwelcomed and unknown;
Gazed, sighed, and turned away; then sadly strayed
To the cold, dreamless churchyard, where were laid
His parents, side by side. A change had come
O'er all that he had loved: his home was dumb,
And through the vale no accent met his ear
That he was wont in early days to hear;
While childhood's scenes fell dimly on his view,
As a dull picture of a spot we knew,
Where we but cold and lifeless forms can trace.
But no bold truth, nor one familiar face.


V.

Night sat upon the graves, like gloom to gloom,
As silent treading o'er each lowly tomb,
Thoughtful and sad, he lonely strove to trace,
Amidst the graves, his father's resting-place.
And well the spot he knew; yea, it alone
Was all now left that he might call his own
Of all that was his kindred's; and although
He looked for no proud monument to show
The tomb he sought, yet mem'ry marked the spot