'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane! (So call him, for so mingling blame with praise, And smiles with anxious looks, his earliest friends, Masking his birth-name, wont to character...
Stop, Christian passer-by: Stop, child of God, And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C....
... O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power....
Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready mood, which he who ne'er has known May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;...