STAND on a funeral mound,

Far, far from all that love thee: With a barren heath around,

And a cypress bower above thee: And think, while the sad wind frets,

And the night in cold gloom closes, Of spring, and spring's sweet violets, Of summer, and summer's roses.

II.

Sleep where the thunders fly

Across the tossing billow;

Thy canopy the sky,

And the lonely deck thy pillow: And dream, while the chill sea-foam In mockery dashes o'er thee,

Of the cheerful hearth, and the quiet home, And the kiss of her that bore thee.

III.

Watch in the deepest cell

Of the foeman's dungeon tower, Till hope's most cherished spell Has lost its cheering power; And sing, while the galling chain On every stiff limb freezes,

Of the huntsman hurrying o'er the plain, Of the breath of the mountain breezes.

IV.

Talk of the minstrel's lute,

The warrior's high endeavor,

When the honeyed lips are inute.

And the strong arm crushed for ever;

Look back to the summer sun,

From the mist of dark December; Then say to the broken-hearted one, ""Tis pleasant to remember!"

(APRIL 11, 1829.)

FUIMUS!

Go to the once loved bowers; Wreathe blushing roses for the lady's hair: Winter has been upon the leaves and flowers,— They were!

Look for the domes of kings;

Lo, the owl's fortress, or the tiger's lair!
Oblivion sits beside them; mockery sings
They were!

Waken the minstrel's lute;

Bid the smooth pleader charm the listening air: The chords are broken, and the lips are mute ·They were!

Visit the great and brave;

Worship the witcheries of the bright and fair.

Is not thy foot upon a new-made grave?—
They were!

Speak to thine own heart; prove

The secrets of thy nature. What is there?

Wild hopes, warm fancies, fervent faith, fond

love,

They were!

We too, we too must fall;

A few brief years to labor and to bear ;

Then comes the sexton, and the old trite tale, "We were!"

(MAY 21, 1829.)

LINES

SENT IN THANKS FOR A BOTTLE OF VERY FINE OLD

BRANDY.

WRITTEN FOR LADY C

SPIRITS there were, in olden time,

Which wrought all sorts of wondrous things (As we are told in prose and ryhme) With wands and potions, lamps and rings; I know not, Lady fair,--do you?—— Whether those tales be false or true.

But in our day-our dismal day

Of sadder song and soberer mirth,

If any spirits ever play

Upon the faded fields of earth, Whose magic, Lady fair, can fling

O'er winter's frosts the flowers of spring,

If any spirits haunt our Isle

Whose power can make old age look gay, Revive the tone, relume the smile,

And chase three score of years away,—

Such spirits, Lady fair, must be
Like those your kindness sends to me!

(MAY 2, 1829.)