The Sum of Life

Searcher of gold, whose days and nights
All waste away in anxious care,
Estranged from all of life's delights,
Unlearn'd in all that is most fair —
Who sailest not with easy glide,
But delvcst in the depths of tide,
And strugglest in the foam;
O! come and view this land of graves,
Death's northern sea of frozen waves,
And mark thee out thy home.
Lover of woman, whose sad heart
Wastes like a fountain in the sun,
Clings most, where most its pain does start,
Dies by the light it lives upon;
Come to the land of graves; for here
Are beauty's smile, and beauty's tear,
Gather'd in holy trust;
Here slumber forms as fair as those
Whose cheeks, now living, shame the rose,
Their glory turn'd to dust.
Lover of fame, whose foolish thought
Steals onward o'er the wave of time,
Tell me, what goodness hath it brought,
Atoning for that restless crime!
The spirit-mansion desolate,
And open to the storms of fate,
The absent soul in fear;
Bring home thy thoughts and come with me,
And see where all thy pride must be:
Searcher of fame, look here!
And, warrior, thou with snowy plume,
That goest to the bugle's call,
Come and look down; this lonely tomb
Shall hold thee and thy glories all:
The haughty brow, the manly frame,
The daring deeds, the sounding fame,
Are trophies but for death!
And millions who have toil'd like thee,
Are stay'd, and here they sleep; and see,
Does glory lend them breath?