The Darken'd veil

Oh could I raise the darken'd veil Which hides my future life from me, Could unborn ages slowly sail Before my view -- and could I see My every action painted there, To cast one look I would not dare. There poverty and grief might stand, And dark Despair's corroding hand, Would make me seek the lonely tomb To slumber in its endless gloom. Then let me never cast a look, Within Fate's fix'd mysterious book.


Oh earthly pomp is but a dream, And like a meteor's short-lived gleam; And all the sons of glory soon Will rest beneath the mould'ring stone. And Genius is a star whose light Is soon to sink in endless night, And heavenly beauty's angel form Will bend like flower in winter's storm.

Forms of Heros

Ye Forms of Heroes slumb'ring here, Beneath these tombstones cold and drear, On which the moss of age has slept, Since one fond heart has o'er you wept, Oh tell me, if a Mortal's prayer, Can ever wake your spirits, where They sleep the dark dread sleep of death. Tell me if now the laurel wreath, Which Glory twin'd around your head, Can wake amid the silent dead, One glance of that proud martial blaze Which led your feet in slaughter's ways.

Go to the Grave

Go to the grave where friends are laid, And learn how quickly mortals fade, Learn how the fairest flower must droop, Learn how the strongest form must stoop, Learn that we are but dust and clay, The short-liv'd creatures of a day. Yet do not sigh -- there is a clime, Where they will dwell through endless time, Who here on earth their Maker serve, And never from his precepts swerve. The grave to them is but a road, That leads them to that blest abode.

My Low and Humble Home

I LEFT my low and humble home, Far from my Father's fields to roam. My peaceful cot no more had charms, My only joy was War's alarms. I panted for the field of fight, I gaz'd upon the deathless light, Which o'er the Hero's grave is shed, The glorious memory of the dead. Ambition show'd a distant star, That shed its radiance bright and far, And pointed to a path which led O'er heaps of dying and of dead; Onward I press'd with eager feet, And War's dread thunder still would greet My reckless ears. Where'er I trod, I saw the green and verdant sod, Turn red with blood of slaughter'd foes, And Fury veil'd in smoke arose. I gain'd the envied height; and there, I sigh'd for that lone cottage, where The early hours of life flew by, On wings of youthful ecstasy. Too late I found that Glory's ray, Could never bring one happy day.

The Ocean

The Ocean has its silent caves, Deep, quiet and alone; Though there be fury on the waves, Beneath them there is none. The awful spirits of the deep Hold their communion there; And there are those for whom we weep, The young, the bright, the fair.   Calmly the wearied seamen rest Beneath their own blue sea. The ocean solitudes are blest, For there is purity. The earth has guilt, the earth has care, Unquiet are its graves; But peaceful sleep is ever there, Beneath the dark blue waves.