Though ye have left the homestead now Grave men to walk among, Yet while our sire and grandsire live— Brothers, ye still are young! Nor, sisters, is it time for us Life’s lantern dark to trim, Our own dear mother has not yet Sung her half-century hymn! And while our childhood’s guardians live To bless the passing years, ’Twere more than vain in sad regrets To waste Life’s precious tears; Yet if our summer sky is fair, And green our summer bowers, We know that many walk the earth With sadder hearts than ours. * * * * * I’LL BLAME THEE NOT. BY J. A. TINNON. I’ll blame thee not—for I can love, Another eye as bright as thine, A form as fair, and ne’er regret, This worship at a faithless shrine. I’ll blame thee not—love fond and true May still be won in beauty’s bowers, Though I may never dare again, To wear a wreath of fading flowers. I’ll blame thee not—for thoughts of love And thee no more my bosom fill; And of that dream there lingers scarce One trace of its deep burning thrill. I’ll blame thee not—I smile to see The golden vision pass away, When its bright tints a mask have been To hide a heart of common clay. I’ll blame thee not—for I, perchance, May learn the trick of gladness well, And none shall mark upon my brow A trace of joy or pain to tell. I’ll blame thee not—for I will care No more to bind a restive heart, Though every joy my life can know Should with its passion-dream depart. * * * * * LAW AND LAWYERS. BY JOHN NEAL. “Once more into the breach, dear friends: Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the bends!”