Nor only o'er the Dial's face, This silent phantom, day by day, Steals moments, months, and years away; From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls, Like flowerets glittering with the dews of morn, I too shall lie in dust and darkness low. Then TIME, the Conqueror, will suspend O'er the wide earth's illumined space, Though TIME's triumphant flight be shown, Points from the church-yard stone. TO-MORROW. TO-MORROW, didst thou say? Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow. 'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, It is a period nowhere to be found But soft, my friend-arrest the present moments; For be assured, they all are arrant tell-tales; And though their flight be silent, and their path trackless They post to Heaven, and there record thy folly, Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved. The good old patriarch upon record, Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee. WILLIAM AND MARGARET. WHEN all was wrapt in dark midnight, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet. Her face was like the April morn, So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower The rose was budded in her cheek, But Love had, like the canker-worm, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; "Awake! (she cried) thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave; Now let thy pity hear the maid "This is the dark and fearful hour "Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, "How could you say my face was fair, And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin-heart, Yet leave that heart to break? "How could you promise love to me, Why did you swear my eyes were bright, "How could you say my lip was sweet, "That face, alas! no more is fair, Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, "The hungry worm my sister is; This winding-sheet I wear; And cold and weary lasts our night Till that last morn appear. "But hark! the cock has warned me hence: A long and last adieu ! Come see, false man! how low she lies That died for love of you." Now birds did sing, and morning smile, He hied him to the fatal place Where Margaret's body lay, And stretched him on the green-grass turf, That wrapt her breathless clay: That thrice he called on Margaret's name, And thrice he wept full sore: Then laid his cheek to the cold earth, And word spoke never more. OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. MOST potent, grave, and reverend Signiors, Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of peace; In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience, Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, (For such proceedings I am charged withal) I won his daughter with. Her father loved me, oft invited me, I ran it through, even from my boyish days Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the imminent deadly breach; And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history; Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, |