"Kind lady! till my last of lines is penn'd, My master's love, grief, laughter, at an end, Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend! "Not all are so that were so in past years; Voices, familiar once, no more he hears; Names, often writ, are blotted out in tears. "So be it:--joys will end and tears will dry-- Album! my master bids me wish good-by, He'll send you to your mistress presently. "And thus with thankful heart he closes you; Blessing the happy hour when a friend he knew So gentle, and so generous, and so true. "Nor pass the words as idle phrases by; Stranger! I never writ a flattery, Nor sign'd the page that register'd a lie." MRS. KATHERINE'S LANTERN. WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. "Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I've brought with me. Madam, on its panes you'll see The initials K and E." "An old lantern brought to me? Ugly, dingy, battered, black!" (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose)-- "Pray, sir, take the old thing back. I've no taste for bricabrac." "Please to mark the letters twain--" (I'm supposed to speak again)-- "Graven on the lantern pane. Can you tell me who was she, Mistress of the flowery wreath, And the anagram beneath-- The mysterious K E? "Full a hundred years are gone Since the little beacon shone From a Venice balcony: There, on summer nights, it hung, And her Lovers came and sung To their beautiful K E. "Hush! in the canal below Don't you hear the plash of oars Underneath the lantern's glow, And a thrilling voice begins To the sound of mandolins? Begins singing of amore And delire and dolore-- O the ravishing tenore! "Lady, do you know the tune? Ah, we all of us have hummed it! I've an old guitar has thrummed it, Under many a changing moon. Shall I try it? Do Re MI . . What is this? Ma foi, the fact is, That my hand is out of practice, And my poor old fiddle cracked is, And a man--I let the truth out,-- Who's had almost every tooth out, Cannot sing as once he sung, When he was young as you are young, When he was young and lutes were strung, And love-lamps in the casement hung." LUCY'S BIRTHDAY. Seventeen rosebuds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy's servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring. Types of youth and love and hope! Friendly hearts your mistress greet, Be you ever fair and sweet, And grow lovelier as you ope! Gentle nursling, fenced about With fond care, and guarded so, Scarce you've heard of storms without, Frosts that bite or winds that blow!