'Tis time to part, thou hearest

That hateful watchman's cry.

WATCHMAN.

Past one o'clock-past one.

Yet stay a moment longer
Alas! why is it so,

The wish to stay grows stronger,

The more 'tis time to go?

Now wrap thy cloak about thee

The hours must sure go wrong, For when they're past without thee, They're, oh, ten times as long.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock — past three.

Again that dreadful warning!
Had ever time such flight?
And see the sky, 'tis morning-
So now, indeed, good night.

WATCHMAN.

Past three o'clock-past three.

Good night, good night.

SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE?

SAY, what shall we dance?

Shall we bound along the moonlight plain,
To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain?
Say, what shall we dance?

Shall we, like those who rove
Through bright Grenada's grove,
To the light Bolero's measures move?
Or choose the Guaracia's languishing lay,
And thus to its sound die away?

Strike the gay chords,

Let us hear each strain from ev'ry shore

That music haunts, or young feet wander o'er.

Hark! 'tis the light march, to whose measured time, The Polish lady, by her lover led,

Delights through gay saloons with step untired to tread.

Or sweeter still through moonlight walks

Whose shadows serve to hide

The blush that's raised by him who talks

Of love the while by her side,

Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating

sound

Like dreams we go gliding around,

Say, which shall we dance? which shall we dance?

THE EVENING GUN.

REMEMBER'ST thou that setting sun,
The last I saw with thee,

When loud we heard the evening gun
Peal o'er the twilight sea?
Boom!- the sounds appear'd to sweep

Far o'er the verge of day,
Till, into realms beyond the deep,
They seem'd to die away.

Oft, when the toils of day are done,

In pensive dreams of thee, I sit to hear that evening gun,

Peal o'er the stormy sea.

Boom!- and while, o'er billows curl'd,

The distant sounds decay,

I weep

and wish, from this rough world

Like them to die away.

BALLADS, SONGS,

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC.