Alexandria Gazette, Commercial And Political

We have often wondered, says the New York Courier, "that Mr. Osborne has not favored the public with a publication of all his poems. The only reason why they are not superior to Lord Byron's or Walter Scott's, is, that they were not written in England. The following little Poem, on Time, may challenge a comparison with any one of the same magnitude which has been written by any living poet. Time is admirably personified and the interest is heightened by every poetic circumstance which could be employed in so short a space."

ON TIME.

Addressed to a lady—By Selleck Osborne.

Mov'd by a strange, mysterious power,
That hastens along the rapid hour,
I touch the deep toll'd string:
Even now I saw his wither'd face,
Beneath yon tower's mouldering base,
Where mossy vestments cling.
Dark roll'd his cheerless eyes around,
Severely his grisly visage frown'd;
No locks his head array'd ;
He grasp'd a hero's antique bust
The marble crumbled into dust,
And sunk amidst the shade !
Malignant triumph fill'd his eyes :
"See, hapless mortals, see," he cries,
"How vain your idle schemes.
Beneath my grasp, the fairest form
Dissolves and mingles with the worm
Thus vanish mortal dreams.
"The works of God and man I spoil ;
The noblest proofs of human toil
I treat as childish toys :
"I crush the noble and the brave :
"Beauty I mar, and in the grave
"I bury human joys,"
Hold ! ruthless phantom—hold!' I cried;
If thou canst mock the dreams of pride,
And meaner hopes devour,
Virtue beyond thy reach shall bloom,
When other charms sink to the tomb;
She scorns thy envious power.

On frosty wings the demon fled,
Howling, as o'er the wall he sped.
"Another year is gone!"

Nodding, obey'd his awful power
As TIME flew swiftly on

Since beauty, then, to Time must bow
And age deform the fairest brow,
Let brighter charms be yours:
The female mind, embalm'd in truth,
Shall bloom in everlasting youth,
While time himself endures.