
Thy soul shall find itself alone'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone --Not one, of all the crowd, to pryInto thine hour of secrecy:Be silent in that solitude Which is not loneliness -- for thenThe spirits of the dead who stood In life before thee are againIn death around thee -- and their willShall then overshadow thee: be still.For the night -- tho' clear -- shall frown --And the stars shall look not down,From their high thrones in the Heaven,With light like Hope to mortals given --But their red orbs, without beam,To thy weariness shall seemAs a burning and a feverWhich would cling to thee for ever