III.

And first to a banker's house I hied,

Though I knew he was often surly;
But these Rothschilds, one must humor their pride,
So I hastened to warn him early.

I found him within at a sumptuous feast;
An Apician sauce was before him:

Its flavor he praised to each smiling guest,

'Tis Death,- thus my warning came o'er him. Oh, how his eye glared as he bade me flee! I was off, like a twinkle of light;

And he ate at that dinner enough for three,
And he died of a surfeit that night.

IV.

And next I tapped at an editor's door:
It sounded so like a dun,

He scattered his papers about the floor,
As he made a motion to run.

But soon he resumed his studies again,
When he found no sheriff drew nigh,
Searching old books for a New-Year's strain:
I whispered, The year to die!

He started, "ah, 'tis a lucky thought,
"And I'll rhyme it out," said he :
"My patrons may fear that Death is near,
And repent of their debts to me."

V.

I hurried away to a doctor then,

Though I knew I might spare my pains, That he thought of disease as the end of men, And of death as the doctor's gains.

"My patient must die," he was maundering on, As he glanced a fee-bill o'er,

"And his money will go to his graceless son: My bill might be something more.

The youth will never take trouble or care,
Though I charge five visits a day.”

So he figured away, while I hissed in his ear,
Remember, my visit's to pay.

VI.

I told an old man it was time he should go,
And he was too deaf to hear.

I called at the play on a dashing beau,
And he was too gay to fear.

I paused in a merchant's counting-room,
And a dunce was I to stop :

Scarce would he have heeded the crash of doom,

While reckoning his ledger up.

There is one demand, I began to say:

He burst, with a hurried breath,

"Show me your bill; I've the cash to pay."

-I left him to settle with Death!

VII.

And then I went to a poor man's shed,
And thought 'twould delight him so:
I knew he often wished he was dead,
But he flatly refused to go.
And oh the wild agony of his eye,

As he begged me one year to give,
And said 'twas hard that a man should die

Who had struggled so long to live.

That his wife was weak, and his children small :

On a beautiful belle I made a call:
Her milliner's girl stood by ;

She had brought a new dress for the New-Year's ball.
I breathed a sepulchral sigh,

And the rich, red flowers seemed ghastly white :

"How odd!" cried the beauty in sorrow;

"These do not become me at all to-night, But bring me some brighter to-morrow."

So fraught with chagrin to me?

Who likes to remember the times he has missed,
When recounting his archery?

I called, in fine, on the old and the young,

Fair, ugly, sober, and gay:

The chorus the same to the tune they all sung,

They would not be hurried away.

There were some who hated the world, to be sure,
And called Time an old villanous cheat;
But heaven was so distant, so holy, so pure,
They had no inclination to see't.

X.

Worms of the dust, I murmured in wrath,
As reaching a princely home,

And following the clew of my fateful path,

I entered the nursery room.

The little ones slept like nestled birds;
And she, the sweet mother-dove,

With a face too happy to paint in words,

Was sorting her gifts of love

For the New-Year's morn. I touched her cheek;

She knew Death's ice-cold chill,

And lifted her eyes with a smile so meek:

"Our Father, do thy will."

XI.

Yes, woman should always be willing to go:

She has nothing on earth but love,
A dowry that bears little value below,
But is priceless transferred above.
Oh! lavish it not on thy brightest joys;

'Tis folly, 'tis all in vain :

I never bestow them except as toys

I mean to resume again.

Even now I shall gather a thousand fair things

I gave when this year was new ;

And the hopes for the next, that I shake from my wings, Will prove as deceitful too.

XII.

But why should I preach? Who'll the wiser be?

The young are engaged in pleasure;

The elderly cut all acquaintance with me ;

And nobody else is at leisure.

They may learn if they will; though life is brief,

Some monitor ever is nigh,

The fading flower, the falling leaf,

The year about to die:

These speak to the hearts of the humble and just;

For the earthly and obstinate,

My visits to such are labor lost,

So I leave them for aye to their fate.

X. THE THREE SCEPTRES.

A VISION.

Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.-ISAIAH.

"BRING forth the sceptres of command!".

That awful Voice I heard

"And let the subject nations stand!"

The waiting world appeared.

Then drew the sceptre-bearers nigh:

Old Asia first crept cowering by;
Next Europe, with her troubled eye;
Then young America.

Each placed her sceptre, passed, and then,
Unveiled before the sons of men,

A Sword, a Crosier, and a Pen
Upon the altar lay.

Again the Voice uprose, and loud

As battle-cry it came;

And wildly, from that heaving crowd,
Echoed the shout, "For Fame!"
Brother 'gainst brother fiercely stood:
The earth was graves, the waters blood,
Kingdoms were crushed, as wasting flood
Had swept o'er crumbling clay;
Till 'mid the din a dove appeared.
The angel's song of "Peace" was heard:
I looked, and with that heavenly word
The Sword had passed away.

Then, like a storm of ashes, hurled
From Etna's burning height,

A thick dark cloud rolled o'er the world,
Blotting mind's blessed light;