Of winter yet I’ll not refuse to sing,

Thus to be followed by eternal spring.

Leigh Richmond.

What is the Grave of Pride? Is it to lie

’Neath sculptured marble, where the night-winds sigh

Through solemn arches, and ’mid pillars tall,

The while the pallid moonbeams coldly fall

On shrine, and urn, and “animated bust,”

The vain memorials all of “dust to dust?”