Unroofed, forsaken by the worshipper. There lie memorial stones, whence time has gnawed

The graven legends, thrones of kings o'erturned,

The broken altars of forgotten gods,
Foundations of old cities and long streets
Where never fall of human foot is heard,
On all the desolate pavement. I behold
Dim glimmerings of lost jewels, far within
The sleeping waters, diamond, sardonyx,
Ruby and topaz, pearl and chrysolite,
Once glittering at the banquet on fair brows
That long ago were dust; and all around
Strewn on the surface of that silent sea
Are withering bridal wreaths, and glossy
locks

Shorn from dear brows by loving hands,

and scrolls

O'erwritten, haply with fond words of love And vows of friendship, and fair pages flung

Fresh from the printer's engine. There they lie

A moment, and then sink away from sight.
I look, and the quick tears are in my eyes,
For I behold in every one of these
A blighted hope, a separate history
Of human sorrows, telling of dear ties
Suddenly broken, dreams of happiness
Dissolved in air, and happy days too brief
That sorrowfully ended, and I think
How painfully must the poor heart have
beat

In bosoms without number, as the blow
Was struck that slew their hope and broke

waves

Around green islands with the breath
Of flowers that never wither. So they pass
From stage to stage along the shining course
Of that bright river, broadening like a sea.
As its smooth eddies curl along their way
They bring old friends together; hands are
clasped

In joy unspeakable; the mother's arms
Again are folded round the child she loved
And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now,
Or but remembered to make sweet the
hour

That overpays them; wounded hearts that bled

Or broke are healed forever. In the room Of this grief-shadowed present, there shall be

A Present in whose reign no grief shall

ELEGIAC

O, IT is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending!

Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye,

Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending,

Glory that never shall fade, never, O

never, away!

O, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes

Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love,

Wet by a mother's warm tears. They crown him with garlands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above.

Not to the shades shall the youth descend, who for country hath perished; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile; There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished;

Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile.

In the motionless fields of upper air:
There with its waving blade of green,
The sea-flag streams through the silent
water,

And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen
To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter:
There with a light and easy motion,
The fan-coral sweeps through the clear,
deep sea;

And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean
Are bending like corn on the upland lea:
And life, in rare and beautiful forms,
Is sporting amid those bowers of stone,
And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of
storms

Has made the top of the wave his own:
And when the ship from his fury flies,
Where the myriad voices of ocean roar,
When the wind-god frowns in the murky
skies,

And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;

Then far below, in the peaceful sea,
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove,
Where the waters murmur tranquilly,
Through the bending twigs of the coral
grove.

NEW ENGLAND

HAIL to the land whereon we tread,
Our fondest boast!

The sepulchre of mighty dead,
The truest hearts that ever bled,
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed,
A fearless host: