Brave temple and huge pyramid,
Hill sepulchred by art,

The barrow acre-vast, where hid

Moulders some Nimrod's heart;

Each monstrous birth

Cumbers old earth,

But acts a voiceless part,

Resolving all to mine own doom,

The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.

Tradition with her palsied hand,

And purblind History, may

Grope and

guess well that in this land

Some great one lived his day;

And what is this,

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,
Lo! this deep bowl I quaff;

If sigh I do,

you

still must say

It sounds more like a laugh.

'Tis not too late

To separate

The good seed from the chaff;

And scoff at those who scorn my doom,

The darkness of a Nameless Tomb.

I spend no sigh, I shed no tear, Though life's first dream is gone; And its bright picturings now appear Cold images of stone;

I've learned to see

The vanity

Of lusting to be known,

And gladly hail my changeless doom,

The darkness of a Nameless Tomb!

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!

A SOLEMN CONCEIT.

STATELY trees are growing,
Lusty winds are blowing,

And mighty rivers flowing

On, for ever on.

As stately forms were growing,

As lusty spirits blowing,

And as mighty fancies flowing

On, for ever on;—

But there has been leave-taking,

Sorrow and heart-breaking,

And a moan, pale Echo's making, For the gone, for ever gone!

Lovely stars are gleaming,

Bearded lights are streaming,

And glorious suns are beaming

On, for ever on.