Leaves Have Their Time To Fall.

FELICIA HEMANS.     Leaves have their time to fall,      And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath,     And stars to set: but all,      Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!     Day is for mortal care,      Eve for glad meetings at the joyous hearth,     Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer,      But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!     The banquet has its hour,      The feverish hour of mirth and song and wine:     There comes a day for grief's overwhelming shower,      A time for softer tears: but all are thine.     Youth and the opening rose      May look like things too glorious for decay,     And smile at thee! - but thou art not of those      That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey!     "FRONDES EST UBI DECIDANT."     "      Frondes est ubi decidant,     Marcescantque rosae flatu Aquilonio:      Horis astra cadunt suis;     Sed, Mors, cuncta tibi tempera vindicas.      Curis nata virum dies;     Vesper colloquiis dulcibus ad focum;      Somnis nox magis, et preci:     Sed nil, Terrigenum maxima, non tibi.      Festis hora epulis datur,     (Fervens hora jocis, carminibus, mero;)      Fusis altera lacrymis     Aut fletu tacito: quaeque tamen tua.      Virgo, seu rosa pullulans,     Tantum quippe nitent ut nequeant mori?      Rident te? Neque enim soles     Praedae parcere, dum flos adoleverit.