« VorigeDoorgaan »
Then if their tombstone, when they die, Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirred Be n't taught to flatter and to lie,
As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud There's nothing better will be said
That Moats so still and placidly through heaven, Than that “they've eat up all their bread, The spirits of the seasons seem to stand, Drunk up their drink, and gone to bed." Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn
And Winter with its aged locks, --and breathe,
In mournful cadences that come abroad
Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail,
A melancholy dirye o'er the dead year,
Gone from the earth forever.
'Tis a time
For memory and for tears. Within the deep, Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Still chambers of the heart, a spectre dim,
Whose tones are like the wizard's voice of Time Ring out the old, ring in the new ; Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold
Ring, happy bells, across the snow ; And solemn finger to the beautiful
And holy visions that have passed away,
And left no shadow of their loveliness
On the lead waste of life. That spectre lifts Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
The coflin-lid of Hope anı Joy and Love,
And bending mournfully above the pale,
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead Ring in redress to all mankind.
flowers Ring out a slowly dying cause
O'er what has passed to nothingness.
Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow,
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course Ring out false pride in place and blood,
It waved its sceptre o'er the beautiful,
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand
Upon the strong man, and the haughty form Ring in the common love of good.
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim.
It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail
Of stricken ones is heard where erst the song Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.
And reckless shout resounded. Ring in the valiant man and free,
It passed o'er The larger heart, the kindlier hand ;
The battle-plain where sword and spear and
| Flashed in the light of midday, and the strength
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve;
Yet ere it melted in the viewless air
| In the dim land of dreams. The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the
Remorseless Time! winds
Fierce spirit of the glass and seythe ! — what The bell's deep tones are swelling, -'tis the power knell
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
His iron heart to pity ? On, still on,
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave He frothed his bumpers to the brim;
A jollier year we shall not see.
He was a friend to me.
Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke avd jest,
Every one for his own.
Their tall heads to the plain ; new empires rise,
How hard he breathes ! over the snow
Shake hands before you die.
GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
And waiteth at the door.
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.
Full knec-deep lies the winter snow,
Old year, you must not die ;
THE APPROACH OF AGE.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
Old year, you must not go ;
WHEN I do count the clock that telis the time,
Going - this old, old life ;
Beautiful world, farewell !
Forest and meadow ! river and hill !
Ring ye a loving knell
O'er us! To-MORROW's action ! can that hoary wisdom,
Coming — a nobler life; Borne down with years, still doat upon to-morrow !
Coming – a better land ; The fatal mistress of the young, the lazy,
Coming - a long, long, nightless day; The coward and the fool, condemned to lose
Coming — the grand, grand An useless life in waiting for to-morrow,
Chorus ! To gaze with longing eyes upon to-morrow,
EDWARD A. JENKS.
THE FOOLISH VIRGINS.
FROM "IDYLS OF THE KING."
The Queen looked up, and said, To-morrow brings the visionary bride.
“O maiden, if indeed you list to sing, But thou, too old to bear another cheat,
Sing, and unbind my heart, that I may weep." Learn that the present hour alone is man's. Whereat full willingly sang the little maid :
“ Late, late, so late! and dark the night and
chill! GOING AND COMING,
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.
Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now.
“No light had we : for that we do repent ; Over behind the frowning hill,
And learning this, the bridegroom will relent Over beyond the bay, —
Too late, too late! Ya cannot enter now.
“No light; so late! and dark and chill the
Another, more benign, night!
Drew out that hair of mine, 0, let us in, that we may find the light!
And in her own dark hair Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now.
Pretended she had found
That one, and twirled it round. -“Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? | Fair as she was, she never was so fair. 0, let us in, though late, to kiss his feet !
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. No, no, too late! Ye cannot enter now."
So sang the novice, while full passionately,
A LITTLE more toward the light.
And one that 's turning;
Adieu to song and “ salad days."
My Muse, let's go at once to Jay's
And order mourning.
We must reform our rhymes, my dear, So calm are we when passions are no more.
| Renounce the gay for the severe, For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Be grave, not witty ; Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
We have no more the right to find
That Pyrrha's hair is neatly twined, Conceal that emptiness which age descries.
That Chloe's pretty. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Young Love's for us a farce that's played ; Lets in new light through chinks that time has Light canzonet and serenade made :
No more may tempt us ; Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; As they draw near to their eternal home.
From aught but sour didactic themes Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
Our years exempt us. That stand upon the threshold of the new.
“A la bonne heure !” You fancy so?
At once satiric?
A fiddlestick! Each hair 's a string
To which our graybeard Muse shal! sing
A younger lyric.
Our heart's still sound. Shall “ cakes and ale"
| Grow rare to youth because we rail
At school-boy dishes ?
Though neither Time nor Tide can bring
Belief with wishes.
But pretty lies loved I
“Ah! si la jeunesse savait - si la vieillesse pouvait !" Aud (must it then be told ?) when youth had quite gone by.
Tuene sat an old man on a rock,
And unceasing bewailed him of Fate, -
That concern where we all must take stock,
Though our vote has no hearing or weight; When one pert lady said,
And the old mau sang him an old, old song, “O Landor! I am quite
Never sang voice so clear and strong
That it could drown the old man's long,
“When we want, we have for our pains
THE THREE WARNINGS. The promise that if we but wait Till the want has burned out of our brains, The tree of deepest root is found Every means shall be present to sate ;
Least willing still to quit the ground ; While we send for the napkin the soup gets 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages, cold,
That love of life increased with years While the bonnet is trimming the face grows So much, that in our latter stages, old,
When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, When we've matched our buttons the pat- / The greatest love of life appears. tern is sold,
This great affection to believe,
If old assertions can't prevail, “When strawberries seemed like red heavens,
| Be pleased to hear a modern tale. Terrapin stew a wild dream. When my brain was at sixes and sevens, When sports went round, and all were gay, If my mother had “folks' and ice-cream, On neighbor Doilson's wedding-day, Then I gazed with a lickerish hunger
Death called aside the jocund groom At the restaurant man and fruit-monger
With him into another room, But 0, how I wished I were younger
And, looking grave, “ You must," says he, When the goodies all came in a stream - “Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." in a stream!
“With you ! and quit my Susan's side? With you!” the hapless husband cried ;
“Young as I am, 't is monstrous haril ! “I've a splendid blood-horse, and -- a liver That it jars into torture to trot;
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared : My row-boat's the gein of the river, -
My thoughts on other matters go ;
This is my wedding-day, you know."
What more he urged I have not heard,
And left to live a little longer.
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke
“ Neighbor," he said, “farewell ! no more “How I longed, in that lonest of garrets,
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ; Where the tiles baked my brains all July,
And further, to avoid all blame
Of cruelty upon my name,
To give you time for preparation,
And fit you for your future station,
| Three several warnings you shall have, Two spoons — love - a basin of pottage ! —
Before you 're summoned to the grave;
Willing for once I 'll quit my prey,
And grant a kind reprieve, close by!
In hopes you 'll have no more to say,
| But when I call again this way, “Ah! now, though I sit on a rock,
Well pleased the world will leave." I have shared one seat with the great ;
To these conditions both consented, ( have sat - knowing naught of the clock
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he lived, how wise, how well, To a mouth grown stern with delay were
How roundly he pursued his course, pressed, And circled a breast that their clasp had
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse,
The willing muse shall tell :
He chaffered then, he bought and sold,
00 Nor once perceived his growing old,
FITZ HUGH LUDLOW. | Nor thought of Death as near :