_The Last Leaf._

A GRAND old Garden by the sea-- I muse beneath the ilex tree, And musing, see across the bay, The white sails gleaming far away! The flash of foam, the sunshine's glint, The ever-changing tone and tint, Of purple, grey, and malachite, And shadows flitting 'fore the light. While overhead the summer breeze Plays sweet leaf music in the trees! And 'neath the cliff, a muffled roar-- The ceaseless sigh of surf on shore! O lilt of leaves! O song of sea! O mingled thrillful harmony! Now sweet, now sad, it seems to me. This touching, tender, minor key. To such rare music would I sing, The while I in the hammock swing! Ah! could the Rhymer but impart The magic of the Poet's art, In order that this Leaf might be A triumph of bright minstrelsy! O were it not too hot to think, And if I had but pen and ink; Or were it not this afternoon, And if my Banjo were in tune; Or if the weather were not fine, And could I rouse this Muse of mine; Why then.... But there, I can't pretend-- The Minstrel's lazy to