Thomas K. Hervey. 1799-1859.
The tomb of him who would have made
The world too glad and free.
The Devil's Progress.
He stood beside a cottage lone
And listened to a lute,
One summer's eve, when the breeze was gone,
And the nightingale was mute.
The Devil's Progress.
A love that took an early root,
And had an early doom.
The Devil's Progress.
Like ships, that sailed for sunny isles,
But never came to shore.
The Devil's Progress.
A Hebrew knelt in the dying light,
His eye was dim and cold,
The hairs on his brow were silver-white,
And his blood was thin and old.
The Devil's Progress.