HE IS GONE! HE IS GONE! HE is gone! he is gone! Like the leaf from the tree; He is fled! he is fled! Like a gallant so free, Plumed cap on his head, And sharp sword by his knee, While his gay feathers fluttered, Surely something he muttered, He at least must have uttered A farewell to me! He's away! he's away To far lands o'er the sea, And long is the day Ere home he can be; But where'er his steed prances, Amid thronging lances, Sure he'll think of the glances That love stole from me! He is gone! he is gone! Like the leaf from the tree; If it ne'er dream of me! WHAT IS TIME? I ASKED an aged man, a man of years, I asked the ancient, venerable dead, I asked a dying sinner, ere the stroke Of ruthless death life's golden bowl had brokeI asked him, "What is time?" "Time," he replied, "I've lost it; oh, the treasure!" and he died. I asked the golden sun and silver spheres, Those bright chronometers of days and yearsThey told me time was but a meteor's glare, And bade me for eternity prepare. I asked the seasons, in their annual round, I asked a spirit lost-but O the shriek I asked my bible, and methinks it said, Of things inanimate, my dial, I I asked old Father Time himself at last, I asked the mighty angel that shall stand "By heaven's Great King I swear the mystery's o'erTime was," he cried, "but Time shall be no more!" SPAIN. ADIEU, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! None hugged a conqueror's chain, save fallen chivalry! Such be the sons of Spain, and, strange her fate! Fond of a land which gave them nought but life, War, war is still the cry, 66 war even to the knife!" Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife: Whate'er keen vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's life: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his needSo may he guard the sister and the wife, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed! THE REAPER AND THE FLOWER. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he, "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of those flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed on the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise nd them in his sheaves. |