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We resta dream has power to poison sleep; We rise—one wandering thought pollutes the
day; We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:
It is the same for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free; Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but Mutability.
There is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.–ECCLESIASTES.
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan That fits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man ! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way, And the billows of cloud that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we knew,
This world is the mother of all we feel, And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompassed with nerves of steel ; When all that we know, or feel, or see, Shall pass
like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be, Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live to hear or to see
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come ? Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb? Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be With the fears and the love for that which we see!
ΔΑΚΡΥΣΙ ΔΙΟΙΣΩ ΠΟΤΜOΝ ΑΠΟΤΜΟΝ. .
O, THERE are spirits in the air,
And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees :-
Such lovely ministers to meet
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And mountain seas, that are the voice
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth ;-Tame sacrifice
To a fond faith! still dost thou pine ? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands ?
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy? Did thine own mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee? That natural scenes or human smiles Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted ; The glory of the moon is dead ;
Night's ghost and dreams have now departed; Thine own soul still is true to thee, But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to know
glow, Have fled like sweet dreams, leaving thee to
These common woes I feel. One loss is mine,
Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon,
Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beain of
Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness
soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene
lights of heaven. Pause not ! the time is past! every voice cries,
Away! Tempt not with one last glance thy friend's un
gentle mood : Thy lover's eye, so glazed and cold, dares not
entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude.
Away, away! to thy sad and silent home;
Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and
come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy
mirth. T'he leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float
around thine head, The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath
thy feet But thy soul or this world must fade in the fro
that binds the dead,