Twas Death who broke the banquet up with fears,
With anguish, with dire pain, and bitter tears.

Eternally from all things here disparted
That sway the heart with pleasure's joyous flow,
Divided from the loved, whom, broken-hearted,
Vain longing tosses and unceasing woe--
In a dull dream to struggle, faint and thwarted,
Smeemed all was granted to the dead below!
Broke lay the merry wave of human glory
On Death's inevitable promontory.

With daring flight, aloft Thought's pinions sweep;
The horrid thing with beauty's robe men cover:
A gentle youth puts out his torch, to sleep;
Sweet comes the end, like moaning lute of lover.
Cool shadow-floods o'er melting memory creep:
So sang the song, for Misery was the mover.
Still undeciphered lay the endless Night--
The solemn symbol of a far-off Might.

The old world began to decline. The pleasure-garden of the young race
withered away; up into opener regions and desolate, forsaking his
childhood, struggled the growing man. The gods vanished with their
retinue. Nature stood alone and lifeless. Dry Number and rigid Measure
bound her with iron chains. As into dust and air the priceless blossoms of
life fell away in words obscure. Gone was wonder-working Faith, and the
all-transforming, all-uniting angel-comrade, the Imagination. A cold north
wind blew unkindly over the torpid plain, and the wonderland first froze,
then evaporated into aether. The far depths of heaven filled with flashing