308

TIME AND ITS CHANGES.

That Love's strong hand would put aside
The barriers of place and pride,-
Would lead the pathless darkness through,
And draw me softly up to you;

But that is past; if you should stray
Beside my grave some future day,
Perchance the violets o'er my dust,
Will half betray their buried trust,
And say, their blue eyes full of dew,
"She loved you better than you knew."

Time and its Changes.

Bailey.

HERE is no charm in time, as time, nor good;
The long days are no happier than the short ones.
'Tis some time now since I was here. We leave
Our home in youth, no matter to what end;
Study, or strife, or pleasure, or what not;
And coming back in few short years, we find
All as we left it, outside; the old elms,
The house, grass, gates, and latchet's selfsame click;
But lift that latchet- all is changed as doom:

The servants have forgotten our step, and more
Than half of those who knew us, know us not.

Adversity, prosperity, the grave,

Play a round game with friends. On some the world
Hath shut its evil eye, and they are passed

THE TOAST.

From honor and remembrance, and a stare
Is all the mention of their names receives;
And people know no more of them than of
The shapes of clouds at midnight, a year back.

The Toast.

HE feast is o'er! Now brimming wine
In lordly cup is seen to shine

Before each eager guest;

And silence fills the crowded hall,

As deep as when the herald's call
Thrills in the royal breast.

Then up arose the noble host,

And smiling cried, “A toast, a toast,
To all our ladyes fair.

Here, before all, I pledge the name
Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame,
The Ladye Gundamere.”

Then to his feet each gallant sprung,
And joyous was the shout that rung
As Stanley gave the word:

And every cup was raised on high,
Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry,

Till Stanley's voice was heard.

309

Scott

"Enough, enough," he smiling said,
And lowly bent his haughty head;

“That all may have their due,
Now each in turn must play his part,
And pledge the ladye of his heart,
Like gallant knight and true.”

Then one by one each guest sprung up,
And drained in turn the brimming cup,
And named the loved one's name;
And each, as hand on high he raised,
His ladye's grace or beauty praised,
Her constancy and fame.

'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise;
On him are fixed those countless eyes;
A gallant knight is he;
Envied by some, admired by all,
Far-famed in ladye's bower and hall,
The flower of chivalry.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high:
"I drink to one," he said,

"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead.

"To one whose love for me shall last When lighter passions long have passed, So holy 'tis and true;

TIME.

To one whose love hath longer dwelt,
More deeply fixed, more keenly felt,
Than any pledged by you."

Each guest upstarted at the word,
And laid a hand upon his sword,
With fury-flashing eye;

And Stanley said, "We crave the name,
Proud knight, of this most peerless dame,
Whose love you count so high."

St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood,
Thus lightly to another;

Then bent his noble head, as though
To give that word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My Mother!"

Time.

311

Young.

HE bell strikes one; we take no note of time,
But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood It is the signal that demands despatch;

How much is to be done!

312

THE HEART'S FINE GOLD.

The Heart's Fine Gold.

W. O Bourne.

SAW a little girl

That shivered by my side,

And the sparkling snow, with a whiff and a whirl,
Wove a frosty wreath in her hanging curl,

As she pushed her hair aside.

I saw her tearful eye,

That spoke in tender power,

And the throbbing heart, with a throe and a sigh,
Were the speaking tongue, that assured me why
She came in that chilly hour.

I asked what brought her there :

In accents low and sad,

She asked for some food, for crust was the fare,
Of mother and babe, 'mid the heart's despair;
In rags they were thinly clad.

Her father with the dead

Had gone to take his rest;

He had struggled long with the toil and dread
Of the life in which the laborers tread,

And had always done his best.

Her simple tale I heard,

Nor did she speak in vain;

For the prayerful tone, and the sigh, and the word

Of the pale, thin lips, all my pity stirred,

As she spoke in tears again.