HER MORAL. Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold ! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary— To save-to ruin-to curse-to bless- Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess, She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad and felt no mirth, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long. VI. Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore! The smile that blest one lover's heart Has broken many more! BALLAD. SPRING it is cheery, Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he's forsaken, Wither'd and shaken, What can an old man do but die? Love will not clip him, Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny, Age has no honey, What can an old man do but die ? June it was jolly, O for its folly! A dancing leg and a laughing eye; Wisdom is chilly,— What can an old man do but die ? Friends they are scanty, If he has followers, I know why; Gold's in his clutches (Buying him crutches!) What can an old man do but die ? RUTH. SHE stood breast high amid tne corn, On her cheek an autumn flush Round her eyes her tresses fell, And her hat, with shady brim, Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean, |