“And dost thou love me, Time,” she cried, “With passion ardent, temper true?” “Let me,” he cried, “by test be tried, And tell to Time what he shall do!” 20 “Old Time,” said she, “thy hand is hard, And thou on beauty lov’st to prey: Do, prithee, Time show some regard, And touch me gently in thy way!” “Then smile upon me, lady, so— That look again, oh! where are such! I must not pass thee as I go, But I will softly, gently touch. “So gently by thee will I steal That none the steps of Time shall see; 30 This withering scythe thou shalt not feel, Nor injured by its stroke shalt be.— “But still I must my prowess prove, Be not displeased—indeed I must; Or men will say that Time, in love, Is blinded, partial, and unjust.— “Yet fear not thou: that form, that face Shall still from me forbearance find; But all the love of Time shall trace, And see his progress in thy mind.” 40 FRAGMENTS OF TALES AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES NOT PREVIOUSLY PRINTED, ARRANGED (SO FAR AS POSSIBLE) IN CHRONOLOGICAL SEQUENCE TRACY. (1 Jan. 1813.) The House of Tracy was of all belov’d: A generous, gentle, valiant, virtuous Race, Admir’d for Courage and for Arts approv’d, They shun’d Dishonour and they spurn’d Disgrace. The Village Mansion was a noble Place, Whose strong Foundations down a Vale were laid; Pride of its Lords and of the Country Grace, Its Towers were o’er the western hill display’d, And on an Eastern Stream broad cast their Evening Shade. Twice twenty Steps of Stone, now mossy all, 10 Led wandering Strangers to the central Door Of a vast Room, by name the marble Hall, Whose squares discolour’d form’d the polish’d floor. Broad were the Stairs and black that rose before And led to Chambers fair and Galleries wide; Here Tracys stood, Men fam’d in days of yore; These Pictures rare, by Taste and Wealth, supply’d The Pride of Tracy these, and worthy praise the pride. Th’ Improver’s Hand was seen in all the place; But Mercy still was a Companion found, 20 And spar’d the Statues fair, the Wood to grace, And Waters clear that fell with murmuring sound From the green Terrace on the higher Ground, With Flowers in Knolls on many a sunny Bank, Where the white flocks o’er velvet Pasture bound; Where Gold-fish long possess’d their marble Tank, And steeds with silky Sides the living Water drank.