Volume 57 / Part 1 — STANZAS.

With every joy we haste to meet, In hopefulness or pride, There comes, with step as sure and fleet, A shadow by its side; And ever thus that spectre chill With each fair bliss has sped, And when the gladden'd pulse should thrill, The stricken heart lies dead! The poet's brow the wreath entwines— What weight falls on the breast! Upon the sword where glory shines, The stains of life-blood rest. Lo, where the rosiest sunbeam glows, There lies eternal snow! And Fame its brightest halo throws, Where death lies cold below. J. D.