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187

SONG.

[They say I'm old, because I'm grey]

They say I'm old, because I'm grey,
The agèd bard, they now call me!
But grey or green, I boldly say,
We're not old yet, but mean to be.
Though sixty years and ten may doom
Tired men to rest with worms and me;
With sixty gone, and ten to come,
We're not old yet, but mean to be.
My eyes flash flame, my heart is glad,
When poor men shake their sides with glee;
And though they cry, “Come on, Old Lad!”
We're not old yet, but mean to be.
While soars the skylark high and higher,
And bids the mountains wake, to see,
How morn can fill my veins with fire,
We're not old yet, but mean to be.
Thou brightening cloud, that sail'st afar
Where screams the falcon, wheeling free!
Tell yonder fading, winking star,
We're not old yet, but mean to be.