A Ballad of the Eighteenth Century

'Twas at the time the moon's broad shield

Shines 'mid the vaulted skies,

While trembling round, her regal state,

The starry myriads rise.

Her pale beams silver'd o'er the gate

Where sculptur'd Frenzy glares,

And moping Melancholy scowls

Upon a world of cares.

From the dark cells, where horror reigns

And dire distraction bides,

A hapless maniac burst her chains,

And through the portal glides.

Loose were her robes, and on her breast

Chill dropp'd the midnight dew;

She felt it not: cold blew the blast;

The winds unheeded blew.

Thro' lighted halls of gay resort,

Thro' trim domestic bands,

She pass'd resistless, and at once

Before the banquet stands.

O most unlook'd-for at that board,

And most unwelcome guest;

Cold is for thee the marble heart,

That robb'd thee of thy rest.

And do you weep? I cannot weep!

Frown not, nor look unkind;

That gentle pity sheds her balm

To sooth my troubled mind.

But stop! Methinks yon distant bell

Now warns me to attend

Where the last gleam of parting hope

Marks out a kinder friend.