In penance for her sins.

So, when my precious aunt was done,
My grandsire brought her back
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth

Might follow on the track):

"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook

Some powder in his pan,

"What could this lovely creature do

Against a desperate man!"

Alas, nor chariot nor barouche

Nor bandit cavalcade

Tore from the trembling father's arms

His all-accomplished maid.

For her how happy had it been!

And Heaven had spared to me

To see one sad, ungathered rose

On my ancestral tree.

THE LAST LEAF

I saw him once before,

As he passed by the door;

And again

The pavement stones resound,

As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,

Ere the pruning-knife of Time

Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the Crier on his round

Through the town.

1831.