THE ALCHYMIST. TOILING from eve to morn, and morn to eve, Behold the Alchymist! On dreams intent, What shadowy form doth now his bellows ply, 'Tis Death!-th' elixir's spilt-and lost the prize, And in the folly of his life he dies. J. J. L. CONTENTMENT, THE TRUE ALCHYMY OF LIFE. AGES roll on; but man, unchanging still, O'er Mammon's furnace bends with ceaseless care Fans it with sighs, and seeks, with subtlest skill, The mystic stone;-yet never finds it there. What if possest ?-its price is faded health ; "If all were gold, then gold no more were wealth!" Too fatal truth!-and learnt, alas! too late. Contentment! angel of the placid brow! Sweet Alchymist! for thee how few will spurn Wealth's glittering chains, though happier far to hold That hallowed talisman whose touch can turn Life's seeming ills to more than Fortune's gold. Thine is the Eldorado of the heart: The halcyon clime of cloudless peace is thine: Angel! to me that sacred gift impart, And let me ever worship at thy shrine. H. D. |