220 THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH. It fanned the old clerk's hoary hair, It left sweet thoughts of summer hours And the church seemed full of the scent of flowers, The image of scenes so still and fair While it seemed their whispered hymn took share We thought of Him who had poured the rills And a purer passion was borne above, As we bowed to the visible spirit of love I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. 222 THE TOAST. I remember, I remember, To know I'm farther off from heaven THE TOAST. SCOTT. THE feast is o'er! Now brimming wine Before each eager guest; And silence fills the crowded hall, Then up arose the noble host, And smiling cried : — “A toast, a toast, Then to his feet each gallant sprung, And every cup was raised on high, Till Stanley's voice was heard. THE TOAST. "Enough, enough," he smiling said, Then one by one each guest sprung up, 'Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise; St. Leon raised his kindling eye, And lifts the sparkling cup on high. "I drink to one," he said, "Whose image never may depart, To one whose love for me shall last To one whose love hath longer dwelt, Than any pledged by you." 223 Each guest upstarted at the word, And Stanley said: "We crave the name, Proud knight, of this most peerless dame, St. Leon paused, as if he would Then bent his noble head, as though TIME. YOUNG. THE bell strikes one; we take no note of time, But from its loss. Is wise in man. To give it, then, a tongue As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours. Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch; How much is to be done. |