[Illustration]
It scarce can be thou art the last
To fade before my watchful gaze;
So short the part that each one plays,
A flickering flame, and life is past.
And thou wert clothed in robe of snow,
A crimson veil around thy head,
And now thou liest, charred and dead,
Erstwhile with ruddy fire aglow.
I held thee in a fond embrace
To guard thee from the whistling wind;
And not another can I find
To comfort me and take thy place.
And though I lay aside my weeds,
Yet like a widow I bemoan;
Nor all the wealth the Indies own,
Could satisfy my present needs.
Thy spark has vanished from my sight,
Useless cigar, tobacco, pipe;
Of perfect misery the type,
A man without another light.
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EMPLOYMENT FOR THE UNEMPLOYED.--On Tuesday, in last week, the Unemployed
had their hands full, when at Temple Avenue they unsuccessfully attempted
to overcome the effective resistance of the Police. The Unemployed might
have been better employed.
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