TO the glittering palaces built by the gods, In the caverns of Delphi, the Muses have fled; They have hidden away in their ancient abodes, From the ominous clouds o'er our country now spread.
No longer, at twilight, when sweet stars appear, And the soft azure heavens are wrapped in the beams Of the moon's gentle rays, are they hovering near, To fill the calm soul with celestial dreams.
I know they are gone,—by the spirit's unrest, And the ennui shrouding the soul's altar now; No longer are sweet spirit-kisses impressed, By their soft, unseen lips, on my sad, aching brow.
The discordant lute at my feet lies unstrung, Its once-thrilling tones wrapped in slumber's low hush; And melody sleeps in the bosom, unsung, Where music was wont in rich numbers to gush.
Yes, the Muses are gone! When the wreath that entwined The fair brow of Liberty faded and fell, And the beautiful pleiad of Freedom declined, They bade to our country a tearful farewell.
