The Heremite Toad.

A human skull in a church-yard lay;      For the church was a wreck, and the tombstones old     On the graves of their dead were rotting away      To the like of their long-watched mould.     And an heremite toad in this desolate seat      Had made him an hermitage long agone,     Where the ivy frail with its delicate feet      Could creep o'er his cell of bone.     And the ground was dark, and the springing dawn,      When it struck from the tottering stones of each grave     A glimmering silver, the dawn drops wan      This skull and its ivy would lave.     *    *    *    *    *    *    *     The night her crescent had thinly hung      From a single star o'er the shattered wall,     And its feeble light on the stone was flung      Where I sat to hear him call.     And I heard this heremite toad as he sate      In the gloom of his ghastly hermitage,     To himself and the gloom all hollowly prate,      Like a misanthropic sage:     "O, beauty is well and is wealth to all,      But wealth without beauty makes fair;     And beauty with wealth brings wooers tall      Whom she snares in her golden hair.     "Tho' beauty be well and be wealth to all,      And wealth without beauty draw men,     Beauty must come to the vaulted wall,      And what is wealth to her then?...     "This skeleton face was beautiful erst;      These sockets could mammonites sway;     So she barter'd her beauty for gold accurs'd -      But both have vanished away.     "But beauty is well when the mind it reveals      More beautiful is than the head;     For beauty and wealth the tomb congeals,      But the mind grows lovelier dead."     And he blinked at the moon from his grinning cell,      And the darnels and burdocks around     Bowed down in the night, and I murmured "Well!"      For I deemed his judgment sound.