His own funereal destiny; And a firm will, and a deep sense, Its own concentered recompense, Triumphant where it dares defy, And making death a victory! WHEN COLDNESS Away, away, without a wing, A nameless and eternal thing, SUN OF THE SLEEpless. Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far, WRAPS THIS That show'st the darkness thou canst not dispel. SUFFERING CLAY. WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah! whither strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stray, How like art thou to joy remembered well! So gleams the past, the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with its powerless rays; But leaves its darkened dust be- A night-beam sorrow watches to be hind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly Or fill at once the realms of space, Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing ali, Before Creation peopled earth, Its eyes shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track, And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks, Fixed in its own eternity. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, hold, Distinct, but distant clear - but oh, how cold! FARE THEE WELL. FARE thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well; Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o'er thee, Which thou ne'er canst know again: Would that breast, by thee glanced over, Every inmost thought could show! Then thou wouldst at last discover 'Twas not well to spurn it so. Through the world for this commend thee Though it smile upon the blow, Even its praises must offend thee, Founded on another's woe: Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwellingplace. Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power, Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, And on that cheek, and o'er that Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words de ceit! INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF THE AUTHOR'S DOG BOATSWAIN. The first were nothing-had I still Something-I know not what -- does the last, It were the haven of my happiness; But other claims and other ties thou hast, And mine is not the wish to make them less. A strange doom is thy father's son's, and past Recalling, as it lies beyond redress; Reversed for him our grandsire's fate of yore, He had no rest at sea, nor I on shore. still uphold A spirit of slight patience; - not in vain, Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. Perhaps the workings of defiance stir Within me- or perhaps a cold despair, Brought on when ills habitually re cur, Perhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, (For even to this may change of soul refer, If my inheritance of storms hath And with light armor we may learn been to bear,) Have taught me a strange quiet; which was not The chief companion of a calmer lot. I feel almost at times as I have felt In happy childhood; trees, and flowWhich do remember me of where I ers, and brooks, dwelt |