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“Through hall, and court, and porch,

Glides on the pitiless torch;
The swift avengers faint not in their toil:

Vain now the matron's sighs ;

Vain now the infant's cries ;
Look, sisters, look, who leads them to the spoil ?

“Not Pyrrhus, though his hand

Is on his father's brand;
Not the fell-framer of the accursed Steed;

Not Nestor's hoary head;

Nor Teucer's rapid tread;
Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomede.

“Visions of deeper fear

To-night are warring here ;-
I know them, sisters, the mysterious Three;

Minerva's lightning frown,

And Juno's golden crown,
And him the mighty ruler of the sounding sea.

“Through wailing and through wo,

Silent and stern they go ;-
So have I ever seen them in my trance !

Exultingly they guide

Destruction's fiery tide, And lift the dazzling shield, and poise the deadly lance.

“Lo! where the old man stands,

Folding his palsied hands, And muttering with white lips, his querulous prayer: “Where is my noble son,

My best, my bravest one,• Troy's hope and Priam's,—where is Hector, where ?"

“Why is thy falchion grasped ?

Why is thy. helmet clasped ? Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine !

The altar reeks with gore;

Oh sisters, look no more!
It is our father's blood upon the shrine !

“And ye, alas ! must roam

Far from your desolate home,
Far from lost Ilium, o'er the joyless wave;

Ye may not from those bowers

Gather the trampled flowers, To wreathe sad garlands for your brethren’s grave.

“Away, away! the gale

Stirs the white bosomed sail ;
Hence !-look not back to freedom or to fame;

Labor must be your doom,

Night-watchings, days of gloom,
The bitter bread of tears, the bridal couch of shame.

“Even now some Grecian dame

Beholds the signal flame,
And waits expectant the returning fleet;

“Why lingers yet my lord ?

Hath he not sheathed his sword-
Will he not bring my handmaid to my feet ??

“Me too the dark Fates call;

Their sway is over all,
Captor and captive, prison-house and throne;-

I tell of others' lot;

They hear me, heed me not!
Hide, angry Phoebus, hide from me mine own.”


The touching pathos of thy low sweet voice
Fell on my heart, like dew on wither'd flowers,
And brought such memory of departed hours ·
As made me weep-yet in my tears rejoice.
For one I loved—now lost to me for ever-
Breathed even so the soul of melody,
And-since that voice has perish’d-never, never,
Till I heard thine, such sounds had greeted me.
E’en now thy tones, recall’d by night and day,
Linger in Memory's echo-haunted cell,
Thrilling sweet agony: nor know I well
Whether to chide them, or to bid them stay.
At times I scarce can bear the pain'd regret
Which they excite—then cry, Oh do not leave me yet!


E voi ridete ?-Certo ridiamo.

Cosi fan tutte.

Laugh on, fair cousins, for to you

All life is joyous yet;
Your hearts have all things to pursue,

And nothing to regret;
And every flower to you is fair,

And every month is May;
You've not been introduced to Care,

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day!
Old Time will fling his clouds ere long

Upon those sunny eyes;
The voice whose every word is song,

Will set itself to sighs;
Your quiet slumbers,—hopes and fears

Will chase their rest away ;
To-morrow, you'll be shedding tears,—

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day !

Oh yes; if any truth is found

In the dull schoolman's theme, If friendship is an empty sound,

And love an idle dream,

If mirth, youth's playmate, feels fatigue

Too soon on life's long way,
At least he'll run with you a league, -

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day!

Perhaps your eyes may grow more bright

As childhood's hues depart;
You may be lovelier to the sight,

And dearer to the heart;
You may be sinless still, and see

This earth still green and gay;
But what you are you will not be,

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day !

O’er me have many winters crept,

With less of grief than joy;
But I have learned, and toiled, and wept.-

I am no more a boy!
I've never had the gout, 't is true,

My hair is hardly gray ;
But now I cannot laugh like you ;

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day!

I used to have as glad a face,

As shadowless a brow:
I once could run as blithe a race

As you are running now;
But never mind how I behave,

Don't interrupt your play,
And though I look so very grave,

Laugh on, laugh on, to-day.

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