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HE IS GONE! HE IS GONE!

HE is gone! he is gone!

Like the leaf from the tree;
Or the down that is blown
By the wind o'er the lea.
He is fled, the light-hearted!
Yet a tear must have started
To his eye, when he parted
From love-stricken me!

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;
But his heart is of stone

If it ne'er dream of me!
For I dream of him ever:
His buff-coat and beaver,
And long sword, O, never
Are absent from me!

WHAT IS TIME?

I ASKED an aged man, a man of years,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs-
"Time is the warp of life," he said; "O tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well."

I asked the ancient, venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled-
From the cold grave, the hollow murmur flowed,
"Time sowed the seeds we reap in this abode."

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,
Which beautify or desolate the ground-
And they replied (what oracle more wise)
"'Tis folly's blank, and wisdom's highest prize."

I asked a spirit lost-but O the shriek
That pierced my soul-I shudder while I speak-
It cried, "A particle, a speck, a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite."

I asked my bible, and methinks it said,
"Thine is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live, live to-day, to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set."

Of things inanimate, my dial, I
Consulted, and it gave me this reply-
"Time is the season fair of living well,
The path to glory, or the path to hell."

I asked old Father Time himself at last,
But in a moment he flew swiftly past;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, that left no trace behind.

I asked the mighty angel that shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land.

"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!
Who may forget how well thy walls have stood!
When all were changing thou alone wert true,
First to be free and last to be subdued:
And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude,
Some native blood was seen thy streets to dye;
A traitor only fell beneath the feud:
Here all were noble, save nobility;

None hugged a conqueror's chain, save fallen chivalry!

Such be the sons of Spain, and, strange her fate!
They fight for freedom who were never free;
A kingless people for a nerveless state,
Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee,
True to the veriest slave of treachery;

Fond of a land which gave them nought but life,
Pride points the path that leads to liberty;
Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife,

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,
And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

"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.

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