"I drank the richest draughts;

And ate whatever is good

Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit,

Supplied my hungry mood;

But I never remember'd the wretched ones That starve for want of food!

"I dress'd as the noble dress,
In cloth of silver and gold,

With silk, and satin, and costly furs,
In many an ample fold;

But I never remembered the naked limb
That froze with winter's cold.

"The wounds I might have heal'd!

The human sorrow and smart! And yet it never was in my soul

To play so ill a part :

But evil is wrought by want of Thought, As well as want of Heart!"

She clasp'd her fervent hands,
And tears began to stream;
Large, and bitter, and fast they fell,
Remorse was so extreme:

And yet, oh yet, that many a Dame
Would dream the Lady's Dream!

DEATH'S RAMBLE.

ONE day the dreary old King of Death Inclined for some sport with the carnal,

So he tied a pack of darts on his back,
And quietly stole from his charnel.

His head was bald of flesh and of hair,
His body was lean and lank,

His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur
Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank.

And what did he do with his deadly darts,

This goblin of grisly bone?

He dabbled and spill'd man's blood, and he kill'd Like a butcher that kills his own.

The first he slaughter'd it made him laugh

(For the man was a coffin-maker)

To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, Would mourn for an undertaker.

Death saw two Quakers sitting at church:
Quoth he, "We shall not differ."

And he let them alone, like figures of stone.

For he could not make them stiffer.

He saw two duellists going to fight,

In fear they could not smother;

And he shot one through at once-for he knew

They never would shoot each other.

He saw a watchman fast in his box,

And he gave a snore infernal;

Said Death, “He may keep his breath, for his sleep

Can never be more eternal."

He met a coachman driving 'his coach

So slow, that his fare grew sick;
But he let him stray on his tedious way,
For Death only wars on the quick.

Death saw a toll-man taking a toll,
In the spirit of his fraternity;

But he knew that sort of man would extort,
Though summon'd to all eternity.

He found an author writing his life,
But he let him write no further;
For Death, who strikes whenever he likes,
Is jealous of all self-murther!

Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse,
And a doctor that took the sum ;

But he let them be-for he knew that the "fee"
Was a prelude to "faw" and "fum."

He met a dustman ringing a bell,
And he gave him a mortal thrust;
For himself, by law, since Adam's flaw,
Is contractor for all our dust.

He saw a sailor mixing his grog,

And he mark'd him out for slaughter:
For on water he scarcely had cared for Death,
And never on rum-and-water.

Death saw two players playing at cards,
But the game wasn't worth a dump,
For he quickly laid them flat with a spade,
To wait for the final trump!

BALLAD.

IT was not in the Winter

Our loving lot was cast; It was the Time of Roses,

We pluck'd them as we pass'd;

That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet :—

Oh, no-the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met !

'Twas twilight, and I bade you go, But still you held me fast;

It was the Time of Roses,—

We pluck'd them as we pass'd.

What else could peer thy glowing cheek,

That tears began to stud!

And when I ask'd the like of Love,
You snatched a damask bud;

And oped it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.—

It was the Time of Roses,

We pluck'd them as we pass'd!

AUTUMN.

THE Autumn is old,

The sere leaves are flying:
He hath gather'd up gold,
And now he is dying;
Old Age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe,

The harvest is heaping ;—
But some that have sow'd
Have no riches for reaping ;-
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!

The year's in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,

The night has no eve,

And the day has no morning ;

Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill,

The red sun is sinking,

And I am grown old,

And life is fast shrinking;—

Here's enow for sad thinking!

TO HOPE.

OH! take, young seraph, take thy harp,
And play to me so cheerily;
For grief is dark, and care is sharp,
And life wears on so wearily.

Oh! take thy harp!

Oh! sing as thou were wont to do,
When, all youth's sunny season long,
I sat and listen'd to thy song,

And yet 'twas ever, ever new,
With magic in its heaven-tuned string—
The future bliss thy constant theme,
Oh! then each little woe took wing
Away, like phantoms of a dream;
As if each sound

That fluttered round

Had floated over Lethe's stream!