The day departs. Two mournful shadows rise
With voices vain and gloomy, blowing death.
Their bones decay, their heavy steps surmise
The dreary fears that men dare not confess.
Until a lance of light is thrown through night,
Diffusing odours sweet as blooming rose,
Then they dissolve like morning dew in flight
Of dread, and find in tombs eterne repose.
The chaste and gentle moon of Love ascends
In perfect glory, shining dizzy beams
On those resentful phantoms’ timely ends,
Dispersing haunting dreams with silver gleams.
The spinning wheel of life then rolls apace,
Across the land serene, in endless grace.