Morning Herald

Time is uprearing 'midst high marble columns.
Palaces, pillared domes, and stately spires,
a Temple, whose bright history in volumes
Is pour'd and hallow'd in poetic strains;
But they care not, who trace its lofty dome,
For past historic or the poet's Lyre ; -
And who shall say in visionary dreamings ,
Our country's glory ever can expire !
Even the mortal dust. and buried ashes
Of ancient kingdoms unforgot, abide ;
And the Aurora Borealis flashes
Of their bright deeds, on time's remotest tide
The gods of Greece are fall'n, to whom oblation
In blood was made by sword or flaming fire ;
But who shall say that our enlightened nation
In power, or wealth, or glory, can expire?
Freedom awoke amidst her solemn caves, ;
And listening ears reverberating thunder
Heard, through the mountains and upon the waves.
The old world started then with fear and wonder ;
Greece, who had slept amidst the dust of ages,
-And fearless Poland, shook their chains entire:
And France, a page turned in her book of pages,
Oh, who shall say our glory can expire.
What if the nations ring their fruitless changes
And blood stained banners wave from castle walls.
And war's wild vulture in the circle ranges,
Cluttting on each till each successive falls;
We will build up, despite the world's alarms,
A fabric, kings shall tremble to admire;
With peace the guerdon of our country's arms,
Oh who shall say her glory can expire.
What vision can discern the Babel height
Of the proud dome which Time is firmly rearing,
Giving to Truth Imagination's flight,
And yet no summit to that dome appearing;
Age upon age may swell the world's career--
Death follow life, and son succeed to sire.
But who shall say, though kingdoms disappear,
Our country or her glory can expire.
H.