THE autumn woods are damp with dew, The blood-red moon, behind the trees, Sheds lurid lustre o'er the leas- O dusky braids of scented hair! O cream-hued arms so smooth and round! I bow my forehead to the ground, And sigh for thee, Katrina! I mark the brown bat's wheeling flight, While from the sea-marge, dank and still, O gentle eyes, like violets pure! COME fill another bumper, lad, This Burgundy has long been hid, A pearl from rough-cased oyster. "To friends we've proved," we'll drink again, To those who never falter; Our enemies, our griefs, our pain, We'll trust old Time to alter. See how our goblets flash and gleam— The light that through old wine doth stream K I FOUND one day on the bouldered beach, Worn by the throb of the restless sea, Cast up where the wild waves moan. I gathered it idly-dashed it down- |