Here on this mouldering tomb XX. I AM NOT SAD! I AM not sad, though sadness seem And I awoke To feel 'twas right to bow To Fate's decree, and this my doom, I grieve not, though a tear may fill Old thoughts will rise, do what we will, An idle gush, And all is hush, The fount is soon run dry: And cheerly now I meet my doom, I am not mad, although I see In Fame's bright page enrolled, That they may tell The story well, What shines may not be gold. No, no! content I court my doom, The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. The luck is theirs-the loss is mine, Who e'er could shun Touch with Oblivion's pall? Brave temple and huge pyramid, The barrow acre-vast, where hid But acts a voiceless part, Resolving all to mine own doom, The darkness of a Nameless Tomb. Tradition with her palsied hand, Blind hit or miss, But labour thrown away, For counterparts to mine own doom, The darkness of a Nameless Tomb? I do not peak and pine away, To separate The good seed from the chaff; I spend no sigh, I shed no tear, I've learned to see The vanity Of lusting to be known, And gladly hail my changeless doom, XXI. THE JOYS OF THE WILDERNESS. I HAVE a wish, and it is this, that in some uncouth glen, It were my lot to find a spot unknown by selfish men ; Where I might be securely free, like Eremite of old, From Worldly guile, from Woman's wile, and Friendships brief and cold ; And where I might, with stern delight, enjoy the varied form Of Nature's mood, in every rude burst of the thundering storm. Then would my life, lacking fierce strife, glide on in dreamy gladness, Nor would I know the cark and woe which come of this world's madness; While in a row, like some poor show, its pageantries would pass, Without a sigh, before mine eye, as shadows o'er a glass: Nonentity these shadows be,—and yet, good Lord! how brave That knavish rout doth strut and flout, then shrink into the grave! The Wilderness breathes gentleness;-these waters bubbling free, The gallant breeze that stirs the trees, form Heaven's own melody; The far-stretched sky, with its bright eye, pours forth a tide of love On every thing that here doth spring, on all that glows above. But live with man,-his dark heart scan,-its paltry selfishness Will show to thee, why men like me, love the lone Wilderness! XXII. A SOLEMN CONCEIT. STATELY trees are growing, On, for ever on. As stately forms were growing, K And as mighty fancies flowing But there has been leave-taking, And a moan, pale Echo's making, Lovely stars are gleaming, As lovely eyes were gleaming, But there has been soul-sundering, For graves grow fat with plundering We see great eagles soaring, As lofty ones were soaring, As sonorous voices roaring, And as sparkling wits were pouring On, for ever on ;— But, pinions have been shedding, Every thing is sundering, Every one is wondering, And this huge globe goes thundering On, for ever on. |