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 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
331
THE OLD WHITE STORE.
“Old faces glimmered through the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors.
Old voices called me from without.”
Tennyson.
Old footsteps trod the upper floors.
Old voices called me from without.”
Tennyson.
A whisper comes from the Old White Store,
No longer sought by the busy throng,
“Entrance seek at some other door,
These walls to the worm Decay belong!
Pass on, and pause not, child of sin,
You would purchase naught that he keeps within!”
No longer sought by the busy throng,
“Entrance seek at some other door,
These walls to the worm Decay belong!
Pass on, and pause not, child of sin,
You would purchase naught that he keeps within!”
Unscared by smoke, the weary bird
Its wing on the chimney-top may fold,
And shuffling feet are no longer heard
Crossing the door-sill as of old:
When the night-blast shakes its crazy walls,
In mildewed flakes the plaster falls.
Its wing on the chimney-top may fold,
And shuffling feet are no longer heard
Crossing the door-sill as of old:
When the night-blast shakes its crazy walls,
In mildewed flakes the plaster falls.
Moss on the sloping roof is green,
And the cornice wears a dusky tinge;
Thick and red may the rust be seen
On window-bar and grating-hinge;
And Ruin traces, with cloudy line,
His own sad name on the faded sign.
And the cornice wears a dusky tinge;
Thick and red may the rust be seen
On window-bar and grating-hinge;
And Ruin traces, with cloudy line,
His own sad name on the faded sign.
In summer-time the swallow flies
Through broken panes of the sash decayed,
But hurries back to the free blue skies,
As if of fearful shapes afraid;
And weeds display their sickly leaves
On window-ledge and rotting eaves.
Through broken panes of the sash decayed,
But hurries back to the free blue skies,
As if of fearful shapes afraid;
And weeds display their sickly leaves
On window-ledge and rotting eaves.
The ceiling, damp and white with mould,
Hath lost the paint of other days;
The crumbling bricks of the hearth are cold,
Once bright with the crackling fagot's blaze;
And trails, where unclean things have crept,
Furrow the dust of floors unswept.
Hath lost the paint of other days;
332
Once bright with the crackling fagot's blaze;
And trails, where unclean things have crept,
Furrow the dust of floors unswept.
Dark shelves are draped with cobwebs gray,
Once laden with goods and costly wares;
And wood-worms work their spiral way
Through mouldering boards and cellar-stairs;
Counter, and desk, and broken stool
Tell a touching tale of Time's misrule.
Once laden with goods and costly wares;
And wood-worms work their spiral way
Through mouldering boards and cellar-stairs;
Counter, and desk, and broken stool
Tell a touching tale of Time's misrule.
Grass shoots up near the portal wide,
But spell hath the place to waken thought;
Garments there for the blushing bride,
And winding-sheets for the dead were bought:
In sunken graves tall nettles grow,
And bloom from the bride fled long ago.
But spell hath the place to waken thought;
Garments there for the blushing bride,
And winding-sheets for the dead were bought:
In sunken graves tall nettles grow,
And bloom from the bride fled long ago.
When came the holidays of yore,
Flocked thither merry girls and boys,
For a famous place was that Old White Store
For tempting gifts and glittering toys;
And the farmer, there, full bags of grain
To market brought in his harvest-wain.
Flocked thither merry girls and boys,
For a famous place was that Old White Store
For tempting gifts and glittering toys;
And the farmer, there, full bags of grain
To market brought in his harvest-wain.
The shingles, weather-browned and worn,
Wild winds lift up and bear away,
As, one by one, the locks are torn
From a head with age and sorrow gray;
And the cheerful homes of the living near
Comport but ill with a place so drear.
Wild winds lift up and bear away,
As, one by one, the locks are torn
From a head with age and sorrow gray;
And the cheerful homes of the living near
Comport but ill with a place so drear.
How lone is the Old White Store at night,
When lamps at the village casements gleam,
And sparks that emit a ruddy light
From the roaring smithy upward stream!
Divided reign a fearful pair,
Darkness and silence, are holding there!
When lamps at the village casements gleam,
And sparks that emit a ruddy light
From the roaring smithy upward stream!
Divided reign a fearful pair,
Darkness and silence, are holding there!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |