"Enough, enough, my yeoman good,

Thy grief let none gainsay; But I, who am of lighter mood, Will laugh to flee away.

"For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour?

Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes

We late saw streaming o'er.

For pleasures past I do not grieve,

Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear.

"And now I'm in the world alone,
Upon the wide, wide sea:
But why should I for others groan,
When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain,
Till fed by stranger hands;

But long ere I come back again,
He'd tear me where he stands.

"With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine;

Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.

Welcome, welcome, ye dark-blue waves!
And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!

My native Land-Good Night!"

STANZAS.

"COULD LOVE FOR EVER."

COULD Love for ever

Run like a river,

And Time's endeavor

Be tried in vain

No other pleasure

With this could measure;

And like a treasure

We'd hug the chain.

But since our sighing

Ends not in dying,

And, formed for flying,

Love plumes his wing;

Then for this reason

Let's love a season,

But let that season be only Spring.

When lovers parted

Feel broken-hearted,
And all hopes are thwarted,
Expect to die;

A few years older,
Ah! how much colder

They might behold her

For whom they sigh!

When linked together
In every weather,

They pluck Love's feather

From out his wing

He'll stay for ever,

But sadly shiver

Without his plumage, when past the Spring.

Life Chiefs of Faction,

His life is action

A formal paction

That curbs his reign,

Obscures his glory,
Despots no more, he
Such territory

Quits with disdain.
Still, still advancing,
With banners glancing,
His power enhancing,

He must move on-
Repose but cloys him,
Retreat destroys him,

Love brooks not a degraded throne.

Wait not, fond lover!

Till years are over,

And then recover

As from a dream.

While each bewailing
The other's failing,

With wrath and railing

All hideous seem

Then part in friendship, and bid good-night.

So shall Affection,

To recollection

The dear connection

Bring back with joy ;

You had not waited
Till, tired or hated,
Your passions sated
Began to cloy.
Your last embraces
Leave no cold traces

The same fond faces

As through the past

And eyes, the mirrors

Of your sweet errors

Reflect but rapture - not least though last.

True, separations

Ask more than patience :

What desperations

From such have risen!

But yet remaining,

What is 't but chaining

Hearts which, once waning,

Beat 'gainst their prison?

Time can but cloy love,
And use destroy love:
The winged boy, Love,
Is but for boys —
You'll find it torture

Though sharper, shorter,

To wean, and not wear out your joys.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

No; 't was but the wind,

Did ye not hear it?
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet

But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,

As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! Arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar!