Excerpt from The Pleasures of Melancholy: A Poem

Beneath yon' ruin'd'abbey's mofs-grown piles Oft let me fit, at twilight hour of Eve, Where thro' fome 'wefiern window the pale moon Pours her long-levell'd rule of {treaming light 5 While fullen facr'ed filence reigns around, Save the lone Screech-owl's note, Whofe bow'r is built Amid the mould'ring caverns dark and damp.

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