"LEAVES HAVE THEIR TIME TO FALL."

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.

"Debemur morti nos nostraque."

FRONDES est ubi decidant,

Marcescantque rosæ flatu Aquilonio :
Horis astra cadunt suis;

Sed, Mors, cuncta tibi tempora vindicas.

Curis nata virum 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!

FELICIA HEMANS.

Virgo, seu rosa pullulans,

Tantum quippe nitent ut nequeant mori?

Rident te? Neque enim soles

Prædæ parcere, dum flos adoleverit.

MY BROTHER.

MY boyish days are nearly gone,
My breast is not unsullied now;
And worldly cares and woes will soon
Cut their deep furrows on my brow.

And life will take a darker hue
From ills my brother never knew:
And human passions o'er my soul
Now hold their dark and fell control:
And fear and envy, hate and rage,
Proclaim approaching manhood's age.

And I have made me bosom friends,

And loved and linked my heart with others;

But who with mine his spirit blends

As mine was blended with my brother's?