II.

No; there is no repose for them, the solitary few, Who muse on all that they have done, and all they meant to do;

And leave the prisoned loveliness of some hopehaunted book,

With many a melancholy sigh, and many an anxious look;

As lovers look their last upon the Lady of their

fancies,

When barb or bark is waiting, in the middle of

romances.

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 favour 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-weary

ing 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, 'nunc quidem paullulum,' inquit, 'a sole."-Cicero, Tuse Disp.

I.

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.

II.

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.