THE SPHINX AT MOUNT AUBURN.

THOU look'st, with sorrowful and anxious gaze

Across the graves that hold the sacred bones

Of many fallen in the strife to raise

The curse of slavery from their land. No tones

Come from those sweet yet steadfast lips, no word

Of blame to those who erred yet are forgiven.

Though senseless stone, thou look'st as if, were heard

One whisper 'gainst the land that once was riven

By civil strife, or saw one deed of shame

That would make blush thy dead could they but live,

Thou wouldst avenge the once unspotted fame

Of that fair land whose honors men can give

And buy for gold. And yet thy lips are mute and still,

Nor gives thy form, e'en at such shame as ours, one thrill.