passed,
Hope outspeeds time."

Wit, next nearest old time to pass,
With his diamond oar, and his boat of glass;
A feathery dart from his store he drew,
And shouted, while far and swift it flew,
"O mirth kills time."

But time sent the feathery arrow back,
Hope's boat of amaranths missed its track;
Then love made his butterfly pilots move,
And, laughing, said, "They shall see how love
Can conquer time."

His gossamer sails he spread with speed,
But time has wings when time has need;
Swiftly he crossed life's sparkling tide,
And only memory stayed to chide
Unpitying time.

Wake, and listen then bride of May,
Listen and heed thy minstrel's rhyme;
Still for thee some bright hours stay,
For it was a hand like thine, they say,
Gave wings to time.

THE LEGEND OF TRWST LLYWELYN.

Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battle, against the
Saxons, and his three sisters came down here to meet him; and, when they
heard him coming, they said, "It is Trwst Llywelyn," (the sound of
Llywelyn,) and the place has been called so ever since.--_Old Story_.

It is a scene of other days,
That dimly meets my fancy's gaze;
The moon's fair beams are glist'ning bright,
On the Severn's loveliest vale,
And yonder watchtower's gloomy height
Looks stern, in her lustre pale.

Within that turret fastness rude
Three lovely forms I see,
And marvel why, in that solitude,
So fair a group should be.

I know them now, that beauteous band;
By the broidered vest, so rich and rare,
By the sparkling gem, on the tiny hand,
And the golden circlet in their hair,
I know Llywelyn's sisters fair,
The pride of Powys land:

But the proof of lineage pure and high,
Is better far supplied
By the calm, fair brow, and fearless eye,
And the step of graceful pride.

Why are the royal maidens here,
Heedless of Saxon foemen near?
Their only court, the minstrel sage,
Who wakes such thrilling sound;
Their train, yon petty childish page;
Their guard, that gallant hound.

They have left their brother's princely hall,
To greet him from fight returning;
And hope looks out from the eyes of all,
Though fear in their heart lies burning.

"Now, hark!" the eldest maiden cried,
"Kind minstrel, lay thy harp aside,
And listen here with me;
Did not Llywelyn's bugle sound
From off that dark and wooded mound
You named the Goryn Ddu?" {59}

"No, lady, no; my master