Ere yet I go, who may return no more,
That sacred Pile, 'mid yonder shadowy trees,
Let me revisit! — ancient, massy door,
Thou gratest hoarse! — my vital spirits freeze
Passing the vacant Pulpit to the space
Where humble rails the decent Altar grace,
And where my infant sister's ashes sleep,
Whose loss I left the childish sport to weep.