To paint ill as I have done,
Proves forgetfulness begun?
Time's gay minions, pleased you see,
Time, your master, governs me;
Pleased, you mock the fruitless cry,—
"Quick, thy tablets. Memory!"
Ah, too true! Time's current strong
Leaves us true to nothing long.
Yet, if little stays with man,
Ah, retain we all we can!
If the clear impression dies,
Ah, the dim remembrance prize!
Ere the parting hour go by,
Quick, thy tablets, Memory!
THE NEW SIRENS.
In the cedar-shadow sleeping,
Where cool grass and fragrant glooms
Late at eve had lured me, creeping
From your darkened palace rooms,—
I, who in your train at morning
Strolled and sang with joyful mind,
Heard, in slumber, sounds of warning;
Saw the hoarse boughs labor in the wind.
Who are they, O pensive Graces,
(For I dreamed they wore your forms)
Who on shores and sea-washed places
