He is everywhere, and very well known
  In palace, in court, and cot;
Though ages have crumbled, and centuries flown,
He is youthful and strong, and is still on his throne,
  And his chains are spells of thought.

The maiden has murmured in ’plaint so low,
  While the tear trickled over a smile,
That scarcely a wo could be uttered, till “no,”
Was the heart’s quick response, “I would not have him go—­
  The ‘Annoyer’ may linger awhile.”

He shadows the pages of classic lore
  In the student’s loneliest hour,
And wakes up a thought that had slept before—­
An image is born that can die no more—­
  The student feels his power.

A voice on the hill-top, a voice in the river,
  A voice in the song of birds;
It hangs on the zephyr, it comes from the quiver
Of oak, beech and fir-leaf—­it speaketh forever
  In thrilling, mysterious words;

’Tis the voice of the strong one!  Know ye well,
  His presence you may not shun;
For he thrones in the heart, and he rules with a spell,
And poets may sing us and sages may tell
  That Love is a mighty one!

THE SURVIVING THOUGHT.

How long, ah me! this weary heart hath striven
  With vanity, and with a wild desire! 
How long, and yet how long, must this frail bark be driven,
While these unsteady, fitful hope-lights given,
  One after one expire?

These earthly visions prove, alas! unstable;
  And we are all too prone to clutch them fast,
Though false, aye, falser than the veriest fable,
To which a “thread of gossamer is cable—­”
  They cannot—­cannot last!

Our eye must soon behold the appalling writing—­
  The settlement of proud Belshazzar’s doom! 
These timely buds must early feel a blighting—­
This earthly strife—­ah, ’tis a sorry fighting! 
  The victory—­the Tomb!

The dreams fond youth in years agone had cherished;
  The hopes that wove a rainbow tissue bright—­
Are they all gone—­forever gone, and perished—­
Ev’n the last bud my silent tears had nourished—­
  Have all been Death’s delight?

And will he come and mock me with his booty,
  And twirl my visions round his bony finger? 
And will he tell my heart no other beauty
Upon the earth is mine—­no other duty,
  Than for his mandate linger?

Up, rise, thou vital spark! not yet extinguished,
  Assert thy heritage—­exert thy might;
Though in the sloughs of sorrow thou hast languished,
And pain and wrong’s envenomed part out-anguished,
  One ray breaks through the night.

There is, there is one blessed thought surviving;
  The heart’s sure fulcrum in the saddest strait—­
An overture to this unequal striving—­
A hope, a home, a last and blest arriving! 
  Bear up, my heart, and wait.

Bear up, poor heart! be patient, and be meekful;
  A calm must follow each untoward blast;
With steady eye look forward to the sequel;
The common road will then seem less unequal,
  That brings us home “at last.”