I.

Years have flown by;--and Strife hath raged and ceased; Still on the ear the halted thunder rings; And still in halls, where purple tyrants feast, Glares the red warning to inebriate kings. Midnight is past: the lamp with steadfast light A silent cell, a mighty toil illumes; And hot and lurid on the student's sight Flares the still ray which, like himself, consumes Its life in gilding darkness. Damp and chill Gather the dews on aching temples wan, Wrung from the frame which fails the unconquer'd will In the fierce struggle between soul and man.