"Would that my acts could equal the noble acts I've told.
Would that I could but master myself as visions bold!"
So cried a famous artist, in agony of soul,
As waves of great temptation before him high did roll.
"Oh, would that I could body the thoughts that govern me.
Oh, would that I could picture the visions I foresee!"
So cried a saintly woman, in ecstasy of pain,
As waves of sad depression rolled on her soul to gain.
[THE MUSE OF HISTORY.]
Clio, with her flickering light
And book of valued lore,
Comes down the ages, dark and bright,
Our interest to implore.
She walks with glad majestic mien,
Proud of her knowledge gained;
Though mourning oft at having seen
Man's life so dulled and pained.
Her face with lines of care is wrought,
From searching mystery's cause,
And dealing with the hidden thought
Of nature's subtle laws.