Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1833.pdf/41

Rh

, o’er the palace in ruins, Time has past with a terrible trace— Yet still the vast shrine and the temple Seem to speak of a mightier race Than ours, which exists by the minute, And builds but by contract and steam, Till the spirit has no where to wander, And the heart has no rest for its dream.

But here in the desolate palace, So stedfast amid its decay, With its vast halls and sculptures remaining, The builder alone past away: What visions arise up before us, The infinite and the unknown, Now hidden and vague as the meaning, Concealed in each strangely carved stone!

Who knows but those mystical letters* Might yield every secret of time— Could the past be restored to the present, Methinks ’twere a union sublime: The past—dreaming, high and ideal, The present—keen, selfish and wise, ’Twould be like the glorious old Grecian, And again steal the fire from the skies.

We now make existence too actual, ’Twere better to float down the stream, At the will of the wind and the current, The best of our being a dream. Alas, did I judge from experience, Whatever the future may be, I’d but ask of the past its illusions, They were all that are precious to me.