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Mrs. George Darrell.

At once, good-night." Oh! how the old time gleams
  Bright through the vista of the vanished years;
  Again I wander among fading dreams—
Proud Cawdor's wife dismisses Scotland's peers.

"Mine eyes grow dim, farewell!" Sweet Queen, good-bye!
  A nobler seat is thine than Harry's throne;
Our greatest Wolsey is with thee on high,
Poor Brooke is there, and thou art not alone.

"Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again."
  Ay, Juliet, God knows when we shall meet
God knows! God knows! 'tis still the sad refrain
  To which the human heart-throbs ever beat.

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"'Tis but one cast away, and so—Come death."
  Not cast away, fair Rosalind, but blest
With richer garlands than Orlando's wreath,
  Among' the groves of everlasting' rest.

"So speaking as I think, alas! I die—"
  Again we hear the plaudits—cheer on cheer;
"Bravo, Emilia!". is the shout and cry,
  Whilst gentle eyes are filled with many a tear.

"Sweets, to the sweet"—ay, strew the flow'rets o'er
  Her royal mantle;—it has changed to green.
Hamlet, thy mother is, alas! no more;
  'Tis not Ophelia sleeps, but Denmark's Queen.

"Sir, grieve not you." Nay, Portia, I but pay
  The debt which I, and tens of thousands, owe
To Art and thee; above thy sacred clay
  I weave a garland for the long ago.

The brave old long ago, that free old time,
  When manly hearts were often cheered by thee,
When Austral revelled in her golden prime,
  And nursed Thalia and Melpomene,

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Old forms arise—Brooke, Lambert, Rogers, Heir,
  And others who have answered to the Call;
They're at the Treasury—thou'rt with them there;
  Turn down the footlights—let the curtain fall.