Yes, my friends!-that
happier times have been
Than the present, none can contravene;
That a race once lived of
nobler worth;
And if ancient chronicles were dumb,
Countless stones in witness forth
would come
From the deepest entrails
of the earth.
But this highly-favored race has
gone,
Gone forever to the realms
of night.
We, we live! The moments are
our own,
And the living judge the right.
Brighter zones, my friends, no doubt
excel
This, the land wherein were
doomed to dwell,
As the hardy travellers proclaim;
But if Nature has denied us much,
Art is yet responsive to our touch,
And our hearts can kindle
at her flame.
If the laurel will not flourish
here-
If the myrtle is cold winters
prey,
Yet the vine, to crown us, year
by year,
Still puts forth its foliage
gay.
Of a busier life tis well
to speak,
Where four worlds their wealth to
barter seek,
On the worlds great
market, Thames broad stream;
Ships in thousands go there and
depart-
There are seen the costliest works
of art,
And the earth-god, Mammon,
reigns supreme
But the sun his image only graves
On the silent streamlets
level plain,
Not upon the torrents muddy
waves,
Swollen by the heavy rain.
Far more blessed than we, in northern
states
Dwells the beggar at the angel-gates,
For he sees the peerless city-Rome!
Beautys glorious charms around
him lie,
And, a second heaven, up toward
the sky
Mounts St. Peters proud
and wondrous dome.
But, with all the charms that splendor
grants,
Rome is but the tomb of ages
past;
Life but smiles upon the blooming
plants
That the seasons round her
cast.
Greater actions elsewhere may be
rife
Than with us, in our contracted
life-
But beneath the sun theres
naught thats new;
Yet we see the great of every age
Pass before us on the worlds
wide stage
Thoughtfully and calmly in
review
All. in life repeats itself forever,
Young for ay is phantasy alone;
What has happened nowhere,-happened
never,-
That has never older grown!
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