The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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“THE WEARY OLD YEAR IS NO MORE.” |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
7
“THE WEARY OLD YEAR IS NO MORE.”
The weary, the wailing Old Year is no more!
He is swathed in the shadowy shroud of the Past;
I heard his last moans 'mid the rout and the roar
Of the woods and the waters, the rain and the blast;
He is gone! but his lusty heir, blithesome and bold,
With laughter begins his dark course to pursue:
We have had little jesting or joy with the Old,
Let us hope to be merry and wise with the New.
He is swathed in the shadowy shroud of the Past;
I heard his last moans 'mid the rout and the roar
Of the woods and the waters, the rain and the blast;
He is gone! but his lusty heir, blithesome and bold,
With laughter begins his dark course to pursue:
We have had little jesting or joy with the Old,
Let us hope to be merry and wise with the New.
The weary Old Year! he was sadly beset
By a multiform agony, 'gendered of strife;
With blood and with tears his rough pathway was wet,
And a cloud and a curse seemed to hang o'er his life;
Scathed and scorned, in the dust hoary dynasties rolled,
Like the sere leaves of Autumn, thrones—diadems flew:
We have had little promise or peace with the Old,
Let us hope for more calm, and less care, with the New.
By a multiform agony, 'gendered of strife;
With blood and with tears his rough pathway was wet,
And a cloud and a curse seemed to hang o'er his life;
Scathed and scorned, in the dust hoary dynasties rolled,
Like the sere leaves of Autumn, thrones—diadems flew:
We have had little promise or peace with the Old,
Let us hope for more calm, and less care, with the New.
In France the dread soul-burst of fury began,
Red Anarchy baring his arm for the fray;
From people to people the turbulence ran,
While Liberty trembled with doubt and dismay;
King, Councillor, Concubine, struck from their hold
On state—honour—title, in panic withdrew:
Strange chances and changes have harassed the Old,
Let us hope for more firmness, more faith with the New.
Red Anarchy baring his arm for the fray;
From people to people the turbulence ran,
While Liberty trembled with doubt and dismay;
King, Councillor, Concubine, struck from their hold
On state—honour—title, in panic withdrew:
Strange chances and changes have harassed the Old,
Let us hope for more firmness, more faith with the New.
8
Whilst Europe, with tumult and terror grown loud,
Heaved, shouted, destroyed, like a storm-ridden sea,
My Country, though menaced, stood placid and proud,—
The fugitive's refuge, the rock of the free;
At once, 'neath the banner of Order enrolled,
Her citizens mustered, to stay or subdue;—
Yet the wings of her Commerce were clipped in the Old,
Let us hope but to fly with more strength in the New.
Heaved, shouted, destroyed, like a storm-ridden sea,
My Country, though menaced, stood placid and proud,—
The fugitive's refuge, the rock of the free;
At once, 'neath the banner of Order enrolled,
Her citizens mustered, to stay or subdue;—
Yet the wings of her Commerce were clipped in the Old,
Let us hope but to fly with more strength in the New.
From Erin, the Nightmare of England, there came
Sounds of treason and turmoil across the wild foam,
While the base breath of Demagogue fanned into flame
The sparks of sedition that smouldered at home;
They were quelled—they were quenched—but we mourn to behold
Deluded and fettered, the foolish and few:
We have fenced and made firmer some rights in the Old,
Let us heal, or expel, many wrongs in the New.
Sounds of treason and turmoil across the wild foam,
While the base breath of Demagogue fanned into flame
The sparks of sedition that smouldered at home;
They were quelled—they were quenched—but we mourn to behold
Deluded and fettered, the foolish and few:
We have fenced and made firmer some rights in the Old,
Let us heal, or expel, many wrongs in the New.
Oh! deem not thy errors are cancelled or missed!
There's a blot on thy 'scutcheon—a stain on thy hand;
Yet among the best nations on Liberty's list
Thou art mightiest—wisest, my own native land!
Good laws and great truths will thy glory uphold,
If justice and mercy thy spirit imbue:
Look back on the horrors that darkened the Old,
And thence gather light for thy guide in the New.
There's a blot on thy 'scutcheon—a stain on thy hand;
Yet among the best nations on Liberty's list
Thou art mightiest—wisest, my own native land!
Good laws and great truths will thy glory uphold,
If justice and mercy thy spirit imbue:
Look back on the horrors that darkened the Old,
And thence gather light for thy guide in the New.
Since the first feeble dawn of the weary Old Year,
What bright links of love have been broken away!
Friendly forms and fair faces, to Memory dear,
Have passed from our eyes into holier day!
Our hearts have grown vacant—our hearths have grown cold,
From the absence of things that enamoured our view;
And the tears that we shed o'er each loss in the Old,
Leave their trace on our features—insulting the New.
What bright links of love have been broken away!
Friendly forms and fair faces, to Memory dear,
Have passed from our eyes into holier day!
9
From the absence of things that enamoured our view;
And the tears that we shed o'er each loss in the Old,
Leave their trace on our features—insulting the New.
Rouse! thinking does much, but the doing does more;
Succumb not, though Fortune or Friendship withdraw;
Despair not, though soul-cherished visions are o'er,—
Adversity proves a benevolent law;
There is good in things evil, as Wisdom hath told,
And Experience declares the great words to be true;
The discords of Evil that jarred in the Old
But prelude the music of good in the New.
Succumb not, though Fortune or Friendship withdraw;
Despair not, though soul-cherished visions are o'er,—
Adversity proves a benevolent law;
There is good in things evil, as Wisdom hath told,
And Experience declares the great words to be true;
The discords of Evil that jarred in the Old
But prelude the music of good in the New.
January 1849.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |