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Long ago, long ago ! For the days that are gone their tears shall flow :
Cruel hour,—to tear them so From all they cherished long ago.
Fare ye well, fare ye well!
Cruel tale it were to tell
Far away, far away!
Cruel and false it were to say
Far away, far away! Every night and every day
Kind and wise it were to pray, God be with them far away!
THE ASSURANCE OF HORACE.
I HAVE achieved a tower of fame
More durable than gold,
Of Pyramids of old,-
Nor fiercest winds that blow,
Shall ever overthrow !
I cannot perish utterly :
The brighter part of me
But baffle Death's decree !
My new-blown honours still,
The Capitolian hill.
I shall be sung, where thy rough waves,
My native river, foam,-
And rules his rustic home;
Though lowly, great in might
And tune them both aright.
Thou then, my soul, assume thy state,
And take thine honours due ;
To thine own praise be true!
And with kind haste prepare
To weave thy Poet's hair.
THE ASSURANCE OF OVID.
Now have I done my work !— which not Jove's ire
LOTTERY tickets every day,
And ever drawn a blank ! Yet none the less we pant and pray
For prizes in that bank : Morn by morn, and week by week,
They cheat us, or amuse, Whilst on we fondly hope, and seek
Some stirring daily news.
The heedless postman on his path
Is scattering joys and woes ; He bears the seeds of life and death,
And drops them as he goes !
Upon his common track,
With visions bright, or black !