Study In Solitude.

'Tis true, in midst of all, there may arise      For man's society a sudden thirst,     A sense of hopeless vacancy which dries      The spirit with a loneliness accurst,      A longing irresistible to burst     The branchy brake with other birds to sing,      Or, as, from where in solemn shades immerst,     The beetle comes to wanton on the wing     Around my lamplight flame - alas! poor, foolish thing.     But here thou may'st associate, though alone,      With worthiest men, the best of every age,     Through whom the universe of thought has grown      To what it is - the noble, good, and sage.      How vain the fret, how frivolous the rage     For social rank, when thus e'en monarchs deign      In close communion gladly to engage!     Nay, more than monarchs - Still the Mantuan swain     His fadeless laurel wears - What crowned Augustus' reign?     A thing of gold - 'tis crumbled in the dust,      The crowns of sovereigns and their sceptres all     Decay and are forgotten. Who would trust      His fame to what fleet ruin must inthral?      Tombs will obliterate and columns fall,     Annals be lost, and nothing have remained      Of dynasties - The Conqueror of Gaul     And Lord of the World may yet have only reigned     By Shakspere's suff'rance - What hath all the rest attained?