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?