of fame, upon whose rocky wall
    Records of glory awe the trembling wave,
    Heights where the memories of heroes pave
The ancient streets and lustre all the scene!
    Fair, too, thou city where our fasces have
Their present rest; none worthier I ween!
And fair, ay, very fair, thou city called "Queen!"

STUDY IN SOLITUDE.

'Tis true, in midst of all, there may arise
    For man's society a sudden thirst,
A sense of hopeless vacancy which dries
    The spirit with a loneliness accurst,
    A longing irresistible to burst
The branchy brake with other birds to sing,
    Or, as, from where in solemn shades immerst,
The beetle comes to wanton on the wing
Around my lamplight flame—alas! poor, foolish thing.

But here thou may'st associate, though alone,
    With worthiest men, the best of every age,
Through whom the universe of thought has grown
    To what it is—the noble, good, and sage.
    How vain the fret, how frivolous the rage
For social rank, when thus e'en monarchs deign
    In close communion gladly to engage!
Nay, more than monarchs—Still the Mantuan swain
His fadeless laurel wears—What crowned Augustus' reign?

A thing of gold—'tis crumbled in the dust,
    The crowns of sovereigns and their sceptres all
Decay and are forgotten. Who would trust
    His fame to what fleet ruin must inthral?
    Tombs will obliterate and columns fall,
Annals be lost, and nothing have remained
    Of dynasties—The Conqueror of Gaul
And Lord of the World may yet have only reigned
By Shakspere's suff'rance—What hath all the rest attained?

IN THE SUGAR BUSH.

I halted at the margin of the wood,
    For tortuous was the path, and overhead
Low branches hung, and roots and fragments rude
    Of rock hindered the tardy foot. I led
    My timid horse, that started at our tread
And looked about on every side in fear,
    Until, arising from the jocund shed,
The voice of laughter broke upon our ear,
And through the chinks the light shone out as we drew near.

I tied the bridle rain about a tree,
    And on the ample flatness of a stone
Awhile I lay. 'Tis very sweet to be
    In social mirth's domain, unseen, alone,
    Sweet to make others' happiness one's own:
And he who views the dance from still recess,
    Or reads a love tale in a meadow, prone,
Secures the joy without the weariness.
And fills with love's delight, nor feels its sore distress.

This mind detained me in the night, but soon
    Far other thoughts usurped my regal soul,
With the Supreme made fitter to commune
    When human sympathy illumes the scroll
    And points the secrets of the mighty Whole.
I've spurned the earth to roam the Universe,
    And with the Eternal deadened Time's control,
For refuge from the shadow of a curse,
Or lust of curious lore—than maddest motive worse.

And Thou, Great Essence of all things that are,
    Hast been to me most prodigal of grace,
Thou'st smiled on me in many a twinkling star,
    The morn hath showered kisses on my face,
    In Nature's arms, thy bodily embrace,
Not purest poet hath more fondled been.
    'Tis true that I have often thought to trace,
Instead of peace, a harshness in thy mien,
And where I beauty sought, discordant sights obscene.

But not with aching heart I sought thee now,
    That thou might'st numb with thy narcotic night
The restless pulse,