A PROTEAN GLIMPSE.

Time and I pass to and fro,

Hardly greeting as we go,—

Go askant, like crossing wings

Of sea-gulls where the brave sea sings.

Time, the messenger of Fate!

Cunning master of debate,

Cunning soother of all sorrow,

Ruthless robber of to-morrow;

Tyrant to our dallying feet,

Though patron of a life complete;

Like Puck upon a rosy cloud,

He rides to distance while we woo him,—

Like pale Remorse wrapped in a shroud,

He brings the world in sackcloth to him!

O dimly seen, and often met

As shadowings of a wild regret!

O king of us, yet feebly served;

Dispenser of the dooms reserved;

So silent at the folly done,

So deadly when our respite's gone!—

As sea-gulls, slanting, cross at sea,

So cross our rapid flights with thee.