The Ruins

I've seen, in twilight's pensive hour,
The moss-clad dome, the mouldering tower,
   In awful ruin stand;
That dome, where grateful voices sung,
That tower, whose chiming music rung,
   Majestically grand!

I've seen, 'mid sculptured pride, the tomb
Where heroes slept, in silent gloom,
   Unconscious of their fame;
Those who, with laurel'd honors crown'd,
Among their foes spread terror round,
   And gain'd--- an empty name!

I've seen, in death's dark palace laid,
The ruins of a beauteous maid,
   Cadaverous and pale!
That maiden who, while life remain'd,
O'er rival charms in triumph reign'd,
   The mistress of the vale.

I've seen, where dungeon damps abide,
A youth, admired in manhood's pride,
He who, in reason's happier day,
Was virtuous, witty, nobly gay,
   Learn'd, generous and brave.

Nor dome, nor tower, in twilight shade,
Nor hero fallen, nor beauteous maid,
   To ruin all consign'd---
Can with such pathos touch my breast
As (on the maniac's form impress'd)
   The ruins of the mind!

Selleck Osborn, Poems, Moral, Sentimental, and Satirical, 1823

their runes spake mysteries
whose winds were quiet
they drew breaths wistfully
meant nothing by it

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from the rock they pulled
a sword and gushed blood
breaths became bold
and fled to the wood

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their run forsaked history
on slithering trails
they came out blistering
heels all wrapped in tails

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four stones they polled
a bag of German stones
the cancer atolled
slept herself all alone