YOUTH AND AGE.

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth, one day, To drooping Age, who crest his way.-- "It is a sunny hour of play, "For which repentance dear doth pay; "Repentance! Repentance!

"And this is Love, as wise men say."

"Tell me, what's Love?" said Youth once more, Fearful, yet fond, of Age's lore.-- "Soft as a pa.s.sing summer's wind, "Wouldst know the blight it leaves behind?

"Repentance! Repentance!

"And this is Love--when love is o'er."

"Tell me, what's Love? "said Youth again, Trusting the bliss, but not the pain.

"Sweet as a May tree's scented air-- "Mark ye what bitter fruit 'twill bear, "Repentance! Repentance!

"This, this is Love--sweet Youth, beware."

Just then, young Love himself came by, And cast on Youth a smiling eye; Who could resist that glance's ray?

In vain did Age his warning say, "Repentance! Repentance!"

Youth laughing went with Love away.

THE DYING WARRIOR.

A wounded Chieftain, lying By the Danube's leafy side, Thus faintly said, in dying, "Oh! bear, thou foaming tide.

"This gift to my lady-bride."

'Twas then, in life's last quiver, He flung the scarf he wore Into the foaming river, Which, ah too quickly, bore That pledge of one no more!

With fond impatience burning, The Chieftain's lady stood, To watch her love returning In triumph down the flood, From that day's field of blood.

But, field, alas, ill-fated!

The lady saw, instead Of the bark whose speed she waited, Her hero's scarf, all red With the drops his heart had shed.

One shriek--and all was over-- Her life-pulse ceased to beat; The gloomy waves now cover That bridal-flower so sweet.

And the scarf is her winding sheet!

THE MAGIC MIRROR.

"Come, if thy magic Gla.s.s have power "To call up forms we sigh to see; "Show me my, love, in that, rosy bower, "Where last she pledged her truth to me."

The Wizard showed him his Lady bright, Where lone and pale in her bower she lay; "True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, "She's thinking of one, who is far away."

But, lo! a page, with looks of joy, Brings tidings to the Lady's ear; "'Tis," said the Knight, "the same bright boy, "Who used to guide me to my dear."

The Lady now, from her favorite tree, Hath, smiling, plucked a rosy flower: "Such," he exclaimed, "was the gift that she "Each morning sent me from that bower!"

She gives her page the blooming rose, With looks that say, "Like lightning, fly!"

"Thus," thought the Knight, "she soothes her woes, "By fancying, still, her true-love nigh."

But the page returns, and--oh, what a sight, For trusting lover's eyes to see!-- Leads to that bower another Knight, As young and, alas, as loved as he!

"Such," quoth the Youth, "is Woman's love!"

Then, darting forth, with furious bound, Dashed at the Mirror his iron glove, And strewed it all in fragments round.

MORAL.

Such ills would never have come to pa.s.s, Had he ne'er sought that fatal view; The Wizard would still have kept his Gla.s.s, And the Knight still thought his Lady true.

THE PILGRIM.

Still thus, when twilight gleamed, Far off his Castle seemed, Traced on the sky; And still, as fancy bore him.

To those dim towers before him, He gazed, with wishful eye; And thought his home was nigh.

"Hall of my Sires!" he said, "How long, with weary tread, "Must I toil on?

"Each eve, as thus I wander, "Thy towers seem rising yonder, "But, scarce hath daylight shone, "When, like a dream, thou'rt gone!"

So went the Pilgrim still, Down dale and over hill, Day after day; That glimpse of home, so cheering, At twilight still appearing, But still, with morning's ray, Melting, like mist, away!

Where rests the Pilgrim now?

Here, by this cypress bough, Closed his career; That dream, of fancy's weaving, No more his steps deceiving, Alike past hope and fear, The Pilgrim's home is here.

THE HIGH-BORN LADYE.

In vain all the Knights to the Underwald wooed her, Tho' brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her, But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye.

"Whosoever I wed," said this maid, so excelling, "That Knight must the conqueror of conquerors be; "He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in:-- "None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!

Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her On Knights and on n.o.bles of highest degree; Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, And worshipt at distance the high-born Ladye.

At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her, With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea; His visor was down--but, with voice that thrilled thro her, He whispered his vows to the high-born Ladye.