30
GROANS OF THE TANKARD.
More had the goblet ſpoke, but lo! appears
An ancient Sybil ſurrow'd o'er with years.
Her aſpect ſour, and ſtern ungracious look
With ſudden damp the conſcious veſſel ſtruck:
Chill'd at her touch its mouth it ſlowly clos'd,
And in long ſilence all its griefs repos'd:
Yet ſtill low murmurs creep along the ground,
And the air vibrates with the ſilver ſound.
ON
