A look, as if that calm, yet clouded, eye Had glimpsed the minglings of futurity. And, 'mid the glories of each final doom, Foresaw, not less, the sorrows first to come. ON A DOG. THY happy years of deep affection past, Love was thy very life. Thine every thought,Or instincts-all to that one impulse wrought. Our words our very looks-to thee were known; The shade of feature like the touch of tone. The pensive brow might some light sorrow press, (Such as, erewhile, o'er hour of blissfulness May flit, like summer-cloud, soon come and gone) That flame of living love, to-day -- to-morrow Say! could it be created but to die? Must man's alone survive his earthly state? And all of love beside wheel but a date Ephemeral—to sink annihilate ? Vain questionings are these of " Is" or Oh vain! perchance unholy strife of thought. 66 Ought!" Chase, reasoning Brain! these doubts that creep and steal; And cease to think-tho' not ashamed to feel. MONUMENT AT LUCERNE, TO THE SWISS GUARD MASSACRED AT THE ASSAULT ON THE TUILERIES, A.D. 1792. WHEN madden'd France shook her King's palace floor, Not for your own, but others' claims ye died: Reverent we stand beside the sculptured rock, Thorwaldsen's glorious trophy - in your own. |