And that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

I find too when I stint my glass,
And sit with sober air,

I'm prosed by some dull reasoning ass,
Who treads the path of care;

Or, harder tax'd, I 'm forced to bear

Some coxcomb's fribbling strain—
And that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

Nay, do n't we see Love's fetters, too,
With different holds entwine?
While nought but death can some undo,
There's some give way to wine.
With me the lighter head I wear
The lighter hangs the chain-
And that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

And now I'll tell, to end my song,

At what I most repine;

This cursed war, or right or wrong,

Is war against all wine;

Nay, Port, they say, will soon be rare

As juice of France or Spain

And that I think 's a reason fair

To fill my glass again.

CHARLES MORRIS

The Three Warnings.

THE tree of deepest root is found
Least willing still to quit the ground:
'T was therefore said by ancient sages,
That love of life increased with years
So much, that in our later stages,

When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages,
The greatest love of life appears.

This great affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,—
If old assertions can't prevail,-
Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

When sports went round, and all were gay,
On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day,
Death called aside the jocund groom
With him into another room,

And looking grave-"You must," says he, "Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." "With you! and quit my Susan's side! With you!" the hapless husband cried; "Young as I am 't is monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared: My thoughts on other matters go; This is my wedding-day you know." What more he urged, I have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger; So Death the poor delinquent spared, And left to live a little longer.

Yet calling up a serious look

His hour-glass trembled while he spoke"Neighbor," he said, "Farewell! No more

Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour;
And farther, to avoid all blame

Of cruelty upon my name,

To give you time for preparation,

And fit you for your

future station,

Three several warnings you shall have,
Before you 're summoned to the grave.
Willing for once I 'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve,

In hopes you'll have no more to say,
But, when I call again this way,
Well pleased the world will leave."

To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented.

What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well,
How roundly he pursued his course,
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse
The willing muse shall tell.

He chaffered then, he bought, he sold,
Nor once perceived his growing old,

Nor thought of death as near;

His friends not false, his wife no shrew,
Many his gains, his children few,

He passed his hours in peace.

But while he viewed his wealth increase,
While thus along life's dusty road

The beaten track content he trod,

Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares,
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares,

Brought on his eightieth year.

And now, one night, in musing mood
As all alone he sat,

Th' unwelcome messenger of fate

Once more before him stood. Half killed with anger and surprise, "So soon returned!" old Dodson cries. "So soon, d' ye call it?" Death replies. "Surely, my friend, you 're but in jest! Since I was here before

"T is six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now fourscore."

"So much the worse," the clown rejoined "To spare the aged would be kind:

However, see your search be legal;
And your authority-is 't regal?
Else you are come on a fool's errand,
With but a secretary's warrant.

Besides, you promised me Three Warnings,

Which I have looked for nights and mornings; But for that loss of time and ease,

I can recover damages,"

"I know," cries Death, that at the best I seldom am a welcome guest;

But do n't be captious, friend, at least:
I little thought you 'd still be able
To stump about your farm and stable;
Your years have run to a great length;
I wish you joy, though, of your strength!"
"Hold," says the farmer, "not so fast!
I have been lame these four years past."

"And no great wonder," Death replies:
"However, you still keep your eyes;
And sure, to see one's loves and friends,
For legs and arms would make amends.”
"Perhaps," says Dodson, "so it might,
But latterly I've lost my sight."

"This is a shocking tale, 't is true,
But still there 's comfort left for you:
Each strives your sadness to amuse;
I warrant you hear all the news."

"There's none," cries he; " and if there were,

I'm grown so deaf I could not hear." "Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, "These are unwarrantable yearnings; If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,

You 've had your three sufficient warnings.
So, come along, no more we 'll part,"
He said, and touched him with his dart.

And now old Dodson, turning pale,

Yields to his fate-so ends my tale.

Life.

HESTER THRALE,

LIFE, I know not what thou art,

But know that thou and I must part;

And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me 's a secret yet.

Life, we have been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, 'T is hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time,

Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good-Morning.

ANNA LETITIA Barbauld

When Shall we Three Meet Again?

WHEN shall we three meet again?
When shall we three meet again?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign,
Ere we three shall meet again.

Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath a burning sky;
Though the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls;
Oft in Fancy's rich domain;
Oft shall we three meet again.

When our burnished locks are gray,
Thinned by many a toil-spent day;
When around this youthful pine
Moss shall creep and ivy twine,—
Long may this loved bower remain-
Here may we three meet again.

When the dreams of life are fled;
When its wasted lamps are dead;