Hark to the echo of Time?s footsteps; gone 
Thise moments are into the unseen grave 
Of ages. Thy have vanished nameless. None, 
While they are deep under the eddying wave 
Of the chaotic past, shall placea stone 
Sacred to these, the nurses of the brave, 
The mighty, and the good. Futurity 
Broods on the ocean, hatching `neath her wing 
Invisible to man the century, 
That on its hundered feet, a sluggish thing 
Gnawing away the world, shall totter by 
And sweep dead mortals with it. As I sing 
 Time, the colossus of the world, that strides 
 With each foot plunged in darkness silent glides, 


And puffs death?s cloud upon us. It is vain 
To struggle with the tide; we all must sink 
Still grasping the thin air, with frantic pain 
Grappling with Fame to buoy us. Can we think 
Eternity, by whom swift Time is slain, 
And dragged along to dark destruction?s brink, 
Shall be the echo of man?s puny words? 
Or that our grovelling thoughts shall e?er be writ 
In never fading stars; or like proud birds 
Undazzled in their cloud-built eyrie sit 
Clutching the lightning, or in darting herds 
Diving amid the sea?s vast treasury flit? 
 Sink, painted clay, back to thy parent earth 
 While the glad spirit seeks a brighter birth.