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Nor only o'er the Dial's face,

This silent phantom, day by day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,

Steals moments, months, and years away;
From hoary rock and aged tree,

From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls,
From Teneriffe, towering o'er the sea,
From every blade of grass it falls;
For still, where'er a shadow sweeps,
The scythe of Time destroys,
And man at every footstep weeps
O'er evanescent joys;

Like flowerets glittering with the dews of morn,
Fair for a moment, then for ever shorn :
-Ah! soon, beneath the inevitable blow,

I too shall lie in dust and darkness low.

Then TIME, the Conqueror, will suspend
His scythe, a trophy, o'er my tomb,
Whose moving shadow shall portend
Each frail beholder's doom.

O'er the wide earth's illumined space,

Though TIME's triumphant flight be shown,
The truest index on its face

Points from the church-yard stone.

TO-MORROW.

TO-MORROW, didst thou say?

Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow.
Go to I will not hear of it-To-morrow!

'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury

Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash,
And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and promises,
The currency of idiots. Injurious bankrupt,
That gulls the easy creditor !--To-morrow!

It is a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary registers of Time,
Unless perchance in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society
With those who own it. No, my Horatio,
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are; and baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.

But soft, my friend-arrest the present moments; For be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales;

And though their flight be silent, and their path trackless
As the winged couriers of the air,

They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly,
Because, though stationed on the important watch,
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel,

Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved.
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard,
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar
For every fugitive: and when thou thus
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal
Of hood-winked Justice, who shall tell thy audit?
Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio,
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings.
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms! far more precious
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain.
O! let it not elude thy grasp; but, like

The good old patriarch upon record,

Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee.

WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

WHEN all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep,

In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,

And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like the April morn,
Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay-cold was her lily-hand
That held the sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear

When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower
That sips the silver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,
And opening to the view.

But Love had, like the canker-worm,
Consumed her early prime;

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She died before her time.

"Awake! (she cried) thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy pity hear the maid
Thy love refused to save :

"This is the dark and fearful hour
When injured ghosts complain;
Now dreary graves give up their dead,
To haunt the faithless swain.

"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge, and broken oath;
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

"How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake?

How could you win my virgin-heart,

Yet leave that heart to break?

"How could you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?

Why did you swear my eyes were bright,
Yet leave those eyes to weep?

"How could you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid,
Believe the flattering tale?

"That face, alas! no more is fair,
That lip no longer red;

Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,
And every charm is fled.

"The hungry worm my sister is;

This winding-sheet I wear;

And cold and weary lasts our night

Till that last morn appear.

"But hark! the cock has warned me hence:

A long and last adieu !

Come see, false man! how low she lies

That died for love of you."

Now birds did sing, and morning smile,
And shew her glittering head:
Pale William shook in every limb,
Then raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place

Where Margaret's body lay,

And stretched him on the green-grass turf, That wrapt her breathless clay:

That thrice he called on Margaret's name,

And thrice he wept full sore:

Then laid his cheek to the cold earth,

And word spoke never more.

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY.

MOST potent, grave, and reverend Signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters;
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent; no more.

Rude am I in speech,

And little blessed with the set phrase of peace;
For, since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field;
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broils and battles;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience,
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceedings I am charged withal)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me,
Still questioned me the story of my life,
From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have past.—

I ran it through, even from my boyish days
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances;
Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

And with it all my travel's history;

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven,

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