'For past time has taken Each hour that it gave, And they never awaken From yesterday's grave; So surely we may defy Shadows, like memory, Feeble and fleeting as midsummer wave. 'From the depths where they're falling Nor pleasure, nor pain, Despite our recalling, Can reach us again; Though we brood over them, Nought can recover them, Where they are laid, they must ever remain. 'So seize we the present, And gather its flowers, For,--mournful or pleasant,-- 'Tis all that is ours; While daylight we're wasting, The evening is hasting, And night follows fast on vanishing hours. 'Yes,--and we, when night comes, Whatever betide, Must die as our fate dooms, And sleep by their side; For _change_ is the only thing Always continuing; And it sweeps creation away with its tide.' Here Branwell, writing, contrary to his custom, in a gay mood, forgets the failures of the past, diverting his mind from them by seeking serenity in the diversions which now and then lighten his path. He is perfectly conscious of the fleeting nature of earthly things; and, with that natural and felicitous faculty of versification with which his images and figures are invariably described, he invests the Epicurean with the hopes of the Optimist, or with the indifference of the Stoic to the shadows which ever and anon dim the pleasures of human existence. There is nothing assuredly in this lyric of the 'pulpit twang,' to which Miss Robinson refers, nor is it a 'weak and characterless effusion.' To the year 1842 belongs the following song which in feeling reminds one of Burns' 'Auld Lang Syne.' The subject, however, is distinct, and is pervaded by a profound sentiment of enduring affection, and is expressive of the deepest feeling in reference to it. SONG. 'Should life's first feelings be forgot, As Time leaves years behind? Should man's for ever changing lot Work changes in the mind? 'Should space, that severs heart from heart, The heart's best thoughts destroy? Should years, that bid our youth depart, Bid youthful memories die? 'Oh! say not that these coming years Will warmer friendships bring; For friendship's joys, and hopes, and fears, From deeper fountains spring. 'Its feelings to the _heart_ belong; Its sign--the glistening eye, While new affections on the _tongue_, Arise and live and die. 'So, passing crowds may _smiles_ awake The passing hour to cheer; But only old acquaintance' sake Can ever form a tear.'