"LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL." FELICIA HEMANS. LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set: but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer; But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth! The banquet has its hour, The feverish hour of mirth and song and wine: There comes a day for grief's overwhelming shower, A time for softer tears: but all are thine. "FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT," 139 "FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT." FRONDES est ubi decidant, Marcescantque rose flatu Aquilonio: Horis astra cadunt suis; Sed, Mors, cuncta tibi tempora vindicas. Curis nata virûm dies; Vesper colloquiis dulcibus ad focum; Somnis nox magis, et preci: Sed nil, Terrigenum maxima, non tibi. Festis hora epulis datur, (Fervens hora jocis, carminibus, mero;) Fusis altera lacrymis Aut fletu tacito: quæque tamen tua. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee!-but thou art not of those That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey! "FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT" 141 Virgo, seu rosa pullulans, Tantum quippe nitent ut nequeant mori? Rident te? Neque enim soles Prædæ parcere, dum flos adoleverit. "LET US TURN HITHERWARD OUR BARK.” R. C. TRENCH. ET us turn hitherward our bark," they cried, "LET "And, 'mid the blisses of this happy isle, Past toil forgetting and to come, abide In joyfulness awhile. And then, refreshed, our tasks resume again, With sharp swift keel anew." O heroes, that had once a nobler aim, O heroes, sprung from many a god-like line, What will ye do, unmindful of your fame, And of your race divine? |