Melancholy. A Fragment.

Stretched on a mouldered Abbey's broadest wall, Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep-- Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall, Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep. The fern was pressed beneath her hair, The dark green adder's tongue was there; And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak, The long lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek. That pallid cheek was flushed: her eager look Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook, And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought. Strange was the dream-----