Which he, vain fool, dreams mightier than death!

And of a later period, when the soul
Forsakes its high resolves and wild desires,
When stern Ambition can no more control,
And Love has shrouded o'er its smothered fires;
When Expectation ceases to console,
And Hope, the last kind comforter, expires;
And Avarice, monster of the gilded vest,
Creeps in and occupies the vacant breast.

And then the last sad scene: The sick heart, sore
And fainting from its wounds--the palsied limb--
The brow whose death-sweat peeps from every pore--
The eye with its long, weary watch grown dim--
The withered, wan cheek, that shall bloom no more--
The last dregs dripping slowly from the brim
Of life's drained cup,--behind all gloom, before
A deep, dark gulf--we plunge, and all is o'er!


ACLE AT THE GRAYE OF NERO.

It is a circumstance connected with the history of Nero, that
every spring and summer, for many years after his death, fresh
and beautiful flowers were nightly scattered upon his grave by
some unknown hand.

Tradition relates that it was done by a young maiden of Corinth,
named Acle, whom Nero had brought to Rome from her native city,