spacious room.

When mirth was in its wildest mood,
And reign'd in every breast,
Sudden there stalk'd into the hall,
An uninvited guest.

The air grew chill, the lamps burn'd pale,--
All gaz'd with wild dismay,
The music turn'd a funeral wail,--
Then sighing, died away.

Twas Death that came into the hall,
With visage wan and grim,
And throwing off his sickly pall,
Disclos'd each meagre limb.

Some rose to flee, but palsied fell,
"I'm monarch here," cries Death;
And falling bodies quickly tell
His power o'er life and breath.

Beauty lies cold in his embrace,
And pale is manhood's brow;
The rose that crimson'd youth's fair cheek,
Lies a crush'd lily now.

All, all have sank beneath his dart,
Save fashion's ruthless hold;
She still maintains her iron grasp
O'er bodies pale and cold.

Gold glitters on the pallid brow,
And glassy eye-balls stare
Through glossy ringlets, clustering bright,
Of silken, raven hair.

All, all had bow'd to Fashion's shrine,
To deck the living form,
Through which will drag its length'ned slime,
The crawling coffin worm.

The morning sun had risen high,
And brightly shone o'er all;
But comes no voice, and wakes no eye
Within that spacious hall.

A traveller passing by that morn,
Marvell'd that all so long
Should linger in that festive hall
With revelry and song.

And so alighting from his steed,
He cross'd the portal high,
And glancing o'er the silent hall,
The sad sight met his eye.

With lightning's speed he hurri'd forth
To tell the dismal tale,
And soon were gather'd sorrowing friends
From mountain, hill, and dale.

Sad was the fun'ral wail that rose
From that infected hall;
Nought could the different forms define,
But Fashion's slimpsey pall.

And there they rais'd one common tomb,
And left them to their sleep,
'Till Christ's loud trump shall wake the dead
From slumber, long and deep.

The marble monument they rais'd
Doth this instruction bear:
"The things of earth pass soon away,
To meet your God prepare."

Many voices from the dead,
Here bid you well beware;
Tho' youth may bloom upon your cheek,
Still, still for death prepare.

The flowing nectar that had grac'd
The centre of the whole,
And so enlivened every guest,
Had death within the bowl.