III.

And some were born to be the first, and some to be

the last:

I cannot change the future now; I will not mourn

the past;

But while the firelight flickers, and the lonely lamp burns dim,

I'll fill one glass of Claret till it sparkles to the brim, And, like a knight of chivalry first vaulting on his steed, .

Commend me to my Patron Saint, for a blessing and good speed!

IV.

O Lady! if my pulse beats quick, and my heart trembles now,

If there is flush upon my cheek, and fever on my

brow,

It is not, Lady, that I think, as others think to-night, Upon the struggle and the prize, the doubt and the delight,

Nor that I feel, as I have felt, ambition's idle thrill, Nor that defeat, so bitter once, is bitter to me still:

V.

I think of thee! I think of thee! It is but for thy

sake

That wearied energies arise, and slumbering hopes

awake;

For others other smiles might beam, so only one were

mine;

For others other praise might sound, so I were worthy thine;

On other brows the wreath might bloom, but it were more than bliss

To fling it at thy feet, and say, "Thy friendship hath done this."

VI.

Whate'er of chastened pride is mine, whate'er of nurtured power,

Of self-restraint when suns invite, of faith when tempests lower,

Whate'er of morning joy I have, whate'er of evening rest,

Whate'er of love I yet deserve from those I love the

best,

Whate'er of honest fame upon my after life may

be,

To thee, my best and fairest,-I shall owe it all to

thee!

VII.

I am alone-I am alone! thou art not by my side
To smile on me, to speak to me, to flatter or to

chide;

But oh! if Fortune favor now the effort and the

prayer,

My heart will strive, when friends come round, to fancy thou art there;

To hear in every kindly voice an echo of thy tone, And clasp in every proffered hand the pressure of thy own.

VIII.

As those who shed in Fairy-land their childhood's happy tears

Have still its trees before their sight, its music in their ears,

Thus, midst the cold realities of this soul-wearying

scene,

My heart will shrink from that which is, to that which once hath been;

Till common haunts, where strangers meet to sorrow or rejoice,

Grow radiant with thy loveliness, and vocal with thy voice.

IX.

My sister!-for no sister can be dearer than thou

art

My sister!-for thou hadst to me indeed a sister's

heart,

Our paths are all divided now, but believe that I

obey,

And tell me thou beholdest what I bid thee not

repay:

The star in heaven looks brightest down upon the watery tide:

It may not warm the mariner,—dear Lady, let it

guide!

ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES.

Diogenes Alexandro roganti ut diceret, si quid opus esset, quidem paullulum," inquit, "a sole."-Cicero Tusc. Disp.

SLOWLY the monarch turned aside :
But when his glance of youthful pride
Rested upon the warriors gray
Who bore his lance and shield that day,
And the long line of spears, that came
Through the far grove like waves of flame,
His forehead burned, his pulse beat high,
More darkly flashed his shifting eye,
And visions of the battle-plain
Came bursting on his soul again.

The old man drew his gaze away
Right gladly from that long array,
As if their presence were a blight
Of pain and sickness to his sight;
And slowly folding o'er his breast
The fragments of his tattered vest,
As was his wont, unasked, unsought,
Gave to the winds his muttered thought,

Naming no name of friend or foe,
And reckless if they heard or no.

"Ay, go thy way, thou painted thing,
Puppet, which mortals call a king,
Adorning thee with idle gems,
With drapery and diadems,

And scarcely guessing, that beneath
The purple robe and laurel wreath,
There's nothing but the common slime
Of human clay and human crime!—
My rags are not so rich, but they
Will serve as well to cloak decay.

"And ever round thy jeweled brow.
False slaves and falser friends will bow;
And Flattery,-as varnish flings
A baseness on the brightest things,-
Will make the monarch's deeds appear
All worthless to the monarch's ear,
Till thou wilt turn and think that Fame,
So vilely drest is worse than shame !—
The gods be thanked for all their mercies,
Diogenes hears naught but curses!

"And thou wilt banquet!—air and sea
Will render up their hoards for thee;
And golden cups for thee will hold
Rich nectar, richer than the gold.
The cunning caterer still must share
The dainties which his oils prepare: