 | The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury |  |
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THE OLD MAN'S LAMENT.
O for one draught of those sweet waters now,
That shed such freshness o'er my early life!
O that I could but bathe my fevered brow,
To wash away the dust of worldly strife,
And be a simple-hearted child once more,
As if I ne'er had known this world's pernicious lore!
That shed such freshness o'er my early life!
O that I could but bathe my fevered brow,
To wash away the dust of worldly strife,
And be a simple-hearted child once more,
As if I ne'er had known this world's pernicious lore!
My heart is weary, and my spirit pants
Beneath the heat and burden of the day:
Would that I could regain those shady haunts
Where once with hope I dreamed the hours away,
Giving my thoughts to tales of old romance,
And yielding up my soul to youth's delicious trance!
Beneath the heat and burden of the day:
Would that I could regain those shady haunts
Where once with hope I dreamed the hours away,
Giving my thoughts to tales of old romance,
And yielding up my soul to youth's delicious trance!
Vain are such wishes! I no more may tread
With lingering step and slow the green hill-side;
Before me now life's shortening path is spread,
And I must onward, whatsoe'er betide;
The pleasant nooks of youth are passed for aye,
And sober scenes now meet the traveller on his way.
With lingering step and slow the green hill-side;
Before me now life's shortening path is spread,
And I must onward, whatsoe'er betide;
The pleasant nooks of youth are passed for aye,
And sober scenes now meet the traveller on his way.
Alas! the dust which clogs my weary feet,
Glitters with fragments of each ruined shrine
Where once my spirit worshipped, when with sweet
And passionless enthusiasm it could twine
Its strong affections round earth's earthliest things,
Yet bear away no stain upon its snowy wings.
Glitters with fragments of each ruined shrine
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And passionless enthusiasm it could twine
Its strong affections round earth's earthliest things,
Yet bear away no stain upon its snowy wings.
What though some flowers have 'scaped the tempest's wrath?
Daily they droop by nature's swift decay.
What though the setting sun still lights my path?
Morn's dewy freshness long has passed away;
O give me back life's newly budded flowers!
Let me once more inhale the breath of morning's hours!
Daily they droop by nature's swift decay.
What though the setting sun still lights my path?
Morn's dewy freshness long has passed away;
O give me back life's newly budded flowers!
Let me once more inhale the breath of morning's hours!
My youth! my youth! O give me back my youth!
Not the unfurrowed brow and blooming cheek,
But childhood's sunny thoughts, its perfect truth,
And youth's unworldly feelings; these I seek!
Ah who can e'er be sinless and yet sage?
Would that I might forget Time's dark and blotted page!
Not the unfurrowed brow and blooming cheek,
But childhood's sunny thoughts, its perfect truth,
And youth's unworldly feelings; these I seek!
Ah who can e'er be sinless and yet sage?
Would that I might forget Time's dark and blotted page!
| The poems of Mrs. Emma Catherine Embury | |