Trace the deep lines that Sydenham engraved ;

On yon broad front that breasts the changing swell,

Mark where the ponderous sledge of Hunter fell;

By that square buttress look where Louis stands,

forms,

hands;

freeze,

brains.

Yet the proud fabric in the morning's sun Stands all unconscious of the mischief

done;

Still the red beacon pours its evening rays For the lost pilot with as full a blaze, Nay, shines, all radiance, o'er the scat

tered fleet

Of gulls and boobies brainless at its feet. I tell their fate, though courtesy disclaims

these ?

A PORTRAIT.

THOUGHTFUL in youth, but not austere in age;

Calm, but not cold, and cheerful though a sage;

Too true to flatter, and too kind to

sneer,

And only just when seemingly severe; So gently blending courtesy and art,

------------

Shorter ell than mercers clip
Is the space from hand to lip.
Trust not such as talk in tropes,
Full of pistols, daggers, ropes;
All the hemp that Russia bears
Scarce would answer lovers' prayers;
Never thread was spun so fine,
Never spider stretched the line,
Would not hold the lovers true
That would really swing for you.

Fiercely some shall storm and swear,
Beating breasts in black despair ;
Others murmur with a sigh,
You must melt, or they will die;
Painted words on empty lies,
Grubs with wings like butterflies;
Let them die, and welcome, too;
Pray what better could they do?

Fare thee well, if years efface
From thy heart love's burning trace,
Keep, O keep that hallowed seat
From the tread of vulgar feet;
If the blue lips of the sea
Wait with icy kiss for me,
Let not thine forget the vow,
Sealed how often, Love, as now.

A SONG OF OTHER DAYS.

As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet

Breathes soft the Alpine rose,

So, through life's desert springing sweet,
The flower of friendship grows ;
And as, where'er the roses grow,
Some rain or dew descends,

T is nature's law that wine should flow

To wet the lips of friends.

Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;

It means,

47

Be moderate in your meat,
And partly live to drink;
For baser tribes the rivers flow
That know not wine or song;
Man wants but little drink below,
But wants that little strong.
Then once again, etc.

If one bright drop is like the gem
That decks a monarch's crown,
One goblet holds a diadem

Of rubies melted down!

A fig for Cæsar's blazing brow,

But, like the Egyptian queen, Bid each dissolving jewel glow My thirsty lips between.

Then once again, etc.

The Grecian's mound, the Roman's urn,
Are silent when we call,
Yet still the purple grapes return
To cluster on the wall;
It was a bright Immortal's head

They circled with the vine,
And o'er their best and bravest dead
They poured the dark-red wine.
Then once again, etc.

Methinks o'er every sparkling glass
Young Eros waves his wings,
And echoes o'er its dimples pass

From dead Anacreon's strings;
And, tossing round its beaded brim

Their locks of floating gold, With bacchant dance and choral hymn Return the nymphs of old.

Then once again, etc.

A welcome then to joy and mirth,
From hearts as fresh as ours,
To scatter o'er the dust of earth
Their sweetly mingled flowers;

Shall loudest laugh and sing.

They say we were not born to eat ; But gray-haired sages think

In spite of Folly's frown,

And Nature, from her vine-clad hills,

That rains her life-blood down!