In vain I've endeavored to borrow From friends "some material aid"-- For my landlady views me with sorrow, When she thinks of the bill that's unpaid. Abroad my acquaintances flout me, The ladies cry, "Bless us, look there!" And the little boys cluster about me, And sensible citizens stare. One says, "He's a victim to cupid;" Another, "His conduct's too bad;" A third, "He is awfully stupid;" A fourth, "He is perfectly mad!"-- And then I am watched like a bandit, Mankind with me all are at strife: By heaven no longer I'll stand it, But quick put an end to my life! I've thought of the means--yet I shudder At dagger or ratsbane or rope; At drawing with lancet my blood, or At razor without any soap! Suppose I should fall in a duel, And thus leave the stage with ECLAT? But to die with a bullet is cruel-- Besides 'twould be breaking the law! Yet one way remains: to the river I'll fly from the goadings of care!-- But drown?--oh, the thought makes me shiver-- A terrible death, I declare! Ah, no!--I'll once more see my Kitty, And parry her cruel disdain-- Beseech her to take me in pity, And never dismiss me again. Lord of the Castle. "Lord of the castle! oh, where goest thou? Why is the triumph of pride on thy brow?" "Pilgrim, my bridal awaits me to-day, Over the mountains away and away." "Flora in beauty and solitude roves, List'ning for thee in the shade of the groves." "Pilgrim, I hasten her truth to repay, Over the mountains away and away." "Guided by honor, how brilliant the road Leading from cottage to castle abode!" "Pilgrim, its dictates I learned to obey, Over the mountains away and away." The Fallen Brave. [See Notes] From Cypress and from laurel boughs Are twined, in sorrow and in pride, The leaves that deck the mouldering brows Of those who for their country died: In sorrow, that the sable pall Enfolds the valiant and the brave; In pride that those who nobly fall Win garlands that adorn the grave. The onset--the pursuit--the roar Of victory o'er the routed foe-- Will startle from their rest no more The fallen brave of Mexico. To God alone such spirits yield! He took them in their strength and bloom, When gathering, on the tented field, The garlands woven for the tomb. The shrouded flag--the drooping spear-- The muffled drum--the solemn bell-- The funeral train--the dirge--the bier-- The mourners' sad and last farewell-- Are fading tributes to the worth Of those whose deeds this homage claim; But Time, who mingles them with earth Keeps green the garlands of their fame. Song of the Troubadour. In Imitation of the Lays of the Olden Time. "Come, list to the lay of the olden time," A troubadour sang on a moonlit stream: "The scene is laid in a foreign clime, "A century back--and love is the theme." Love was the theme of the troubadour's rhyme, Of lady and lord of the olden time