XIII.

The sun goes down in beauty--his farewell, Unlike the world he leaves, is calmly bright; And his last mellow’d rays around us dwell, Lingering, as if on scenes of young delight. They smile and fade--but, when the day is o’er, What slow procession moves with measured tread?-- Lo! those who weep, with her who weeps no more, A solemn train--the mourners and the dead! While, throned on high, the moon’s untroubled ray Looks down, as earthly hopes are passing thus away.