The learned are many, the sages few,

Acquaintance many, but not a friend!

FAME.

BLESSED who to himself has kept

His creation highest of the soul,

And from his fellows as from the graves

Expected not appreciation!

Blessed he who in silence sang

And the crown of fame not wearing,

By mob despised and forgotten,

Forsaken nameless has the world!

Deceiver greater than dreams of hope,

What is fame? The adorer's whisper?

Or the boor's persecution?

Or the rapture of the fool?

AT the gates of Eden a tender angel

With drooping head was shining;

A demon gloomy and rebellious

Over hell's abyss was flying.

The Spirit of Denial, the Spirit of Doubt

The Spirit of Purity espied;

And a tender warmth unwittingly

Now first to know it learned he.

Adieu, he spake, thee I saw:

Not in vain hast thou shone before me;

Not all in the world have I hated,

Not all in the world have I scorned.

1827.

HOME-SICKNESS.

MAYHAP not long am destined I

In exile peaceful to remain,

Of dear days of yore to sigh,

And rustic muse in quiet

With spirit calm to follow.

But even far, in foreign land,