Sleep is on man, and darkness all things hides,
And night’s last hour the distant clocks repeat;
The doors unfold!—dead JULIA’S image glides,
Silent and slow,—and stands at GREVILLE’S feet!
Her face like April morns when winds are loud,
And wintry clouds deform the dubious day;
See, from her feet she lifts the folding shroud,
With snow-pale hands, cold as the weltering clay!—
When youth is flown, and all that decks thee now,
Ah! royal CIPARISSIS, such thy doom;
Then death shall strike the diadem from thy brow,
The shroud thy robe, the lightless tomb thy home.
Her form, while peace and hope were hers, was fair
As rising flowers beneath the beams of May;
And her lips smiled and blush’d, and morn’s bright star
Stood in her eyes, as when it leads the day.
But slow disease that kindling blush consumed,
And grief eclips’d the gay and ready smile;
No more the naked lip or laugh’d, or bloom’d;—
Death call’d his worm, and gave th’ untimely spoil.
“Awake!—thy JULIA calls thee!—Fate severe
“Sends her pale corse to wander from the grave!
“At length, O! now at length, let pity hear
“Whom changed and faithless, love refus’d to save.
“These dark, waste hours allow the restless ghost
“To burst the cerements of the festering dead;
“Terror of Him, who once to pity lost,
“In vain remorse th’ avenging doom may dread!
“Thy oath!—thy pledge!—remember them, and fear!—
“Now, if thou canst, thy barbarous crime atone!
“Lo! thy too faithful maid, a spectre drear,
“Gives back thy vows—and sternly claims her own!
“This face, once gaz’d on with ecstatic eyes,
“Once prais’d so fondly, why did’st thou desert?
“Why, with thy tender looks, thy pleading sighs,
“Win, but to desolate my yielding heart?
“Thy promise, (ah! false promiser of joys!)
“How could’st thou break, to crush my rising years?
“Why flatter (cruel flatterer!) these eyes,
“Yet leave them fading in unpitied tears?
“How could’st thou say my lips, in early bloom,
“Shamed the first crimson of the Summer’s rose!
“Why said’st thou so?—and why did I presume,
“Rash maid, to credit thy deluding vows!
“This alter’d face!—now does it bloom?—behold!
“This lip, this ghastly lip no blush retains!
“Death is in these sunk eyes!—and on this cold
“And livid cheek no lingering charm remains!
“The hungry worm my wasting form devours,
“Feeds on these limbs, insatiate with her prey;—
“A cold,—a long,—a tedious night is ours,
“Till the late rising of the nightless day!
“Hark!—the cock crows!—the warning note he gave;
“Hark!—yet again!—A long—a last farewell!
“Come, perjur’d, view thy gift!—the deep, dark grave
“Where thy lost JULIA’S dismal relics dwell!”
Now sing the birds, and from the purpling east
The sun prepares to give the golden day!—
Pale GREVILLE, every horror in his breast,
Leaps from his couch, and frantic speeds away;
And to the tomb, the fatal tomb is flown,
Where cold in death his injured JULIA lay;—
A moment stands by the rais’d turf!—then down,
Headlong he falls on the dissolving clay.
Thrice calls he, “JULIA!” in a piercing sound,
Thrice does he weep, and thrice, with groans, complain;
Then, clasping wild the swell’d and hallow’d ground,
Nor weeps!—nor groans!—nor speaks!—nor moves again!