Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By PhilipFreneau9 On the Ruins of a Country Inn
W
A temple once to Bacchus rose,
Beneath whose roof, aspiring high,
Full many a guest forgot his woes.
Affords a social safe retreat;
But ravens here, with eye forlorn,
And clustering bats henceforth will meet
Unable to survive the stroke,
Presents no more the ruddy wine,—
Her glasses gone, her china broke.
Accosted strangers at the door,
Has left at length his wonted stand,
And greets the weary guest no more.
Might yet have spared these mouldering walls,
Alike beneath whose potent sway
A temple or a tavern falls.
Coy nymphs, and sprightly lads were found?
Indeed! no more the nymphs are coy,
No more the flowing bowls go round.
Deceived the wintry hours away?
No more the swains the tune prolong,
No more the maidens join the lay.
In downy beds of blue and green?
Dame Nature here no vigils kept,
No cold unfeeling guards were seen.
Deep, unrelenting silence reigns;
Of all that pleased, that charmed before,
The tottering chimney scarce remains.
Through doors and windows blew too strong,
And all the roof to ruin cast,—
The roof that sheltered us so long,—
If Mopsus should the dome renew,
That we again may quaff his wine,
Again collect our jovial crew.