The Solitary, and other poems With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead |
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 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
But now he sits the live-long day,
And counts his money every way,
And thinks, and groans, and fain would stay.
His wish, grown stronger while postpon'd,
Now feasible, his will disown'd.
To hie him home, his life's long dream;
Wherefore? his now awaken'd theme.
Many his pains, his pleasures few,
Since the old city first he knew,
Much done in it to reck and rue;
Yet with it, so his heart imbued,
So linked by long, long habitude,
That now, when he must needs begone,
His sorry scapes of leisure rise
Into his memory, one by one,
Indulgences of Paradise.
And can the old home yield them? No—
And yet, broad pieces paid! 'twere woe
To forfeit these:—he needs must go.
And counts his money every way,
And thinks, and groans, and fain would stay.
His wish, grown stronger while postpon'd,
Now feasible, his will disown'd.
To hie him home, his life's long dream;
Wherefore? his now awaken'd theme.
Many his pains, his pleasures few,
Since the old city first he knew,
Much done in it to reck and rue;
119
So linked by long, long habitude,
That now, when he must needs begone,
His sorry scapes of leisure rise
Into his memory, one by one,
Indulgences of Paradise.
And can the old home yield them? No—
And yet, broad pieces paid! 'twere woe
To forfeit these:—he needs must go.
| The Solitary, and other poems | |