 | Young Arthur |  |
44
VARIATION II.
The Hermit and the Youth.
A hermit he sat at the door of his cell;—
And, “list to the sound of the passing bell;”
The hermit he said to a stripling near,
“It teaches a lesson for faith and fear,
“The knell shall cease, and the priest shall sing,
“And, merry, the bells on the morrow shall ring:
“For though life's spirit must pass to death,
“Peace shall follow the passing breath;
“And the bells that ring on the morrow shall say
“There's joy when sorrow hath pass'd away.
“There is a spring, there is a sear;
“A falling of blossom, but fruit is near;
“There is a rain beats down the flower,
“But there's a sunshine, after that shower—
“In the sear and the shower time's emblems see,
“In the fruit and the sunshine eternity.
And, “list to the sound of the passing bell;”
The hermit he said to a stripling near,
“It teaches a lesson for faith and fear,
“The knell shall cease, and the priest shall sing,
“And, merry, the bells on the morrow shall ring:
“For though life's spirit must pass to death,
“Peace shall follow the passing breath;
“And the bells that ring on the morrow shall say
“There's joy when sorrow hath pass'd away.
“There is a spring, there is a sear;
“A falling of blossom, but fruit is near;
“There is a rain beats down the flower,
“But there's a sunshine, after that shower—
“In the sear and the shower time's emblems see,
“In the fruit and the sunshine eternity.
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“I chanc'd a feather to behold
“Dancing upon the breath of air;
“And it seem'd as of human life it told
“Toss'd by caprice, and crosses, and care;
“And it seem'd the emblem of thoughtless ease,
“Buoy'd on the unsubstantial breeze;
“And it seem'd the moral of martyr'd mind,
“Driven at will by misfortune's wind;
“And I mus'd thereon till I saw it fall;
“And this, said I, whether sorrow or joy
“The heart may harrow, or bosom may buoy,
“This, said I, is the end of all!
“Dancing upon the breath of air;
“And it seem'd as of human life it told
“Toss'd by caprice, and crosses, and care;
“And it seem'd the emblem of thoughtless ease,
“Buoy'd on the unsubstantial breeze;
“And it seem'd the moral of martyr'd mind,
“Driven at will by misfortune's wind;
“And I mus'd thereon till I saw it fall;
“And this, said I, whether sorrow or joy
“The heart may harrow, or bosom may buoy,
“This, said I, is the end of all!
“There's a heart that dies, and then falls the tear
There's is an heartless dies, and then smiles appear;
There's a death when mock sorrows their sable show;
And a death that goes by, and none care to know.
There's is an heartless dies, and then smiles appear;
There's a death when mock sorrows their sable show;
And a death that goes by, and none care to know.
“When man's breast for his kindred no sympathy wakes
What matters to man when that life-thread breaks?
When death bids the title a step descend
Herald and hatchment the tomb attend;
Then moves the long cavalcade sullen and slow—
O! this is a wailing devoid of woe.
What matters to man when that life-thread breaks?
When death bids the title a step descend
Herald and hatchment the tomb attend;
Then moves the long cavalcade sullen and slow—
O! this is a wailing devoid of woe.
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“When the manor and mine pass off with the breath,
From the hand that grasp'd till unclos'd by death;
The suit it is sable, for custom's grace;
But the merry smile plays on the mourner's face.
From the hand that grasp'd till unclos'd by death;
The suit it is sable, for custom's grace;
But the merry smile plays on the mourner's face.
There's a heart that dies, and then falls the tear;
And the fame of that heart to the soul is dear;
And the soul of that heart it shall lightly rise,
Wafted to Heaven by gratitude's sighs.
And the fame of that heart to the soul is dear;
And the soul of that heart it shall lightly rise,
Wafted to Heaven by gratitude's sighs.
“Then look to life while the hour is young;
Folly is mad when the hour grows old;
And wisdom has listen'd, as if hope sung,
When e'er for the tomb the bell has told:
As the tree falls it lies, my son”—
The hermit ceas'd, and the youth pass'd on.
Folly is mad when the hour grows old;
And wisdom has listen'd, as if hope sung,
When e'er for the tomb the bell has told:
As the tree falls it lies, my son”—
The hermit ceas'd, and the youth pass'd on.
| Young Arthur | |