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death's doings.

Of richest viands, wines, fruits, and flowers,That deck young Summer or Autumn's bowers,

Amid that gorgeous hall of might,Where the columns, formed of jewels rare,

Seemed each a shaft of sunny light!But what grim unbidden guest sits there,With eyeless sockets and ribs all bare,And grinning so hideously uponThe laughter-loving Cytheron?'Tis Death! who marks him for his prey,Long ere the close of another day!

'Tis dawn,—come, rouse thee, who didst rejoiceAnd sport with the young loves and pleasures,

The harp and the viol have ceased their voice,And the lute its soft preluding measures ;

Arise with the lark and the dappled fawn,

And brush the dews from the cowslip lawn;

Mount the proud seat of thy glittering car,

Which in silvery splendour beams afar;

Pleasure hath harnessed thy horses, all eager to run,

Fiery and swift as the steeds of the sun!

" Ah, this is life, happiness, splendour, and glee;

Mount, mount, my sweet damsel, and journey withme."