A STAR-EYED captive, in a lonely tower,
Look'd o'er a lake outspread in sullen gloom,
Illumin'd with infrequent lily bloom.
There wayward Zephyrs sounded hour by hour
Upon a harp whose pure Eolian power
Beguil'd him, as he paced his haunted room,
To songs ne'er heard before — voicing a doom
That from the very Heavens seemed to lour.
He sang the songs of Death till Death, his theme,
Engulf'd him in that Night of Mystery
Wherein so often he had peer'd to see
The trail of vanish'd Love — the Elysian gleam
Upleading to a starry destiny —
Twinkling from the very gates of Dream.