midnight
And dost thou mourn the sad estate Of widow 'd love ? then silent be ; And hark ! while for my murder 'd mate I wake the lute 's soft melody . How dear to me the midnight moon , As through the clouds she sails along , For then with spirits I commune , And Eustace listens to my song . Oh , not to her who wildly mourns Her noble lover basely slain -- Oh , not to her the morn returns With pleasure laughing in her train . So look 'd it once , when Eustace sung Of plighted love 's perennial joys , Now silent is that tuneful tongue , That graceful form the worm destroys . In vain the feather 'd warblers soar , Mid floods of many colour 'd light ; I hear them not , but still deplore The eye of Beauty quench 'd in night .