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Now as a graybeard I sit here in state, By street and by lane held in awe, sirs; And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great, On pipebowls, on cups, and on saucers. Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar; Oh, vision of youth! Oh, golden star!

 FOR EVER.

 LINES ON SEEING SCHILLER'S SKULL.

a gloomy charnel-house one day I viewed the countless skulls, so strangely mated, And of old times I thought that now were gray, Close packed they stand that once so fiercely hated, And hardy bones that to the death contended Are lying crossed,—to lie for ever, fated. What held those crooked shoulder-blades suspended? No one now asks; and limbs with vigour fired, The hand, the foot—their use in life is ended. Vainly ye sought the tomb for rest when tired; Peace in the grave may not be yours; ye're driven Back into daylight by a force inspired; 