THE NEW-YEAR'S NIGHT OF A MISERABLE MAN.
IN the lone stillness of the New-Year's night
An old man at his window stood, and turned
His dim eyes to the firmament, where, bright
And pure, a million rolling planets burned,
And then down on the earth all cold and white;
And felt that moment that of all who mourned
And groaned upon its bosom, none there were
With his deep wretchedness and great despair.
For near him lay his grave--hidden from view
Not by the flowers of Youth, but by the snows
Of Age alone. In torturing thought he flew
Over the Past, and on his memory rose
That picture of his life which Conscience drew,
With all its fruits-Diseases, Sins, and Woes;
A ruined frame, a blighted soul, dark years,
Agony, Remorse, and withering Fears.
Like spectres now his bright Youth-days came back,
And that cross-road of Life where, when a boy,
His father placed him first: its right-hand track
Leads to a land of Glory, Peace, and Joy;
Its left to wildernesses waste and black,
Where snakes and plagues and poison winds destroy.
Which had he trod? Alas! the serpents hung
Coiled round his heart, their venom on his tongue.
Sunk in unutterable grief, he cried,
"Restore my youth to me! Oh, God! restore
My morn of life! Oh, father! be my guide,
And let me, let me choose my path once more!"
But on the wide waste air his ravings died
Away, and all was silent as before.
His youth had glided by, fleet as the wave;
His father came not-he was in his grave.