Or whence, the sounds are brought from, and their power, Though brief, is boundless. That far, future home, Oft dream'd of, beckons near--it's rose-wreathed bower, And cloudless skies before us: we become Changed on the instant--all gold leaf and gilding: This is, in vulgar phrase, call'd "castle building." XXII. But these, like sunset clouds, fade soon; 'tis vain To bid them linger longer, or to ask On what day they intend to call again; And, surely, 'twere a philosophic task, Worthy a Mitchill, in his hours of leisure, To find some means to summon them at pleasure. XXIII. There certainly are powers of doing this, In some degree at least--for instance, drinking. Champagne will bathe the heart a while in bliss, And keep the head a little time from thinking Of cares or creditors--the best wine in town You'll get from Lynch--the cash must be paid down. XXIV. But if you are a bachelor, like me, And spurn all chains, even though made of roses, I'd recommend segars--there is a free And happy spirit, that, unseen, reposes On the dim shadowy clouds that hover o'er you, When smoking quietly with a warm fire before you. XXV. Dear to the exile is his native land, In memory's twilight beauty seen afar: Dear to the broker is a note of hand, Collaterally secured--the polar star Is dear at midnight to the sailor's eyes, And dear are Bristed's volumes at "half price;" XXVI. But dearer far to me each fairy minute Spent in that fond forgetfulness of grief; There is an airy web of magic in it, As in Othello's pocket-handkerchief, Veiling the wrinkles on the brow of sorrow, The gathering gloom to-day, the thunder cloud to-morrow XXVII. And these are innocent thoughts--a man may sit Upon a bright throne of his own creation; Untortured by the ghastly sprites that flit Around the many, whose exalted station Has been attained by means 'twere pain to hint on, Just for the rhyme's sake--instance Mr. Cl*n*on. XXVIII. He struggled hard, but not in vain, and breathes The mountain air at last; but there are others Who strove, like him, to win the glittering wreaths Of power, his early partisans and brothers, That linger yet in dust from whence they sprung, Unhonour'd and unpaid, though, luckily, unhung. XXIX. 'Twas theirs to fill with gas the huge balloon Of party; and they hoped, when it arose, To soar like eagles in the blaze of noon, Above the gaping crowd of friends and foes. Alas! like Guillé's car, it soar'd without them, And left them with a mob to jeer and flout them. XXX.