THE BLIND GRANDFATHER.
1
Though grandfather has long been blind,
And his few locks are gray,
He loves to hear the summer wind
Round his pale temples play.
2
We'll lead him to some quiet place,
Some unfrequented nook,
Where winds breathe soft, and wild-flowers grace
The borders of the brook.
3
There he shall sit, as in a dream,
Though nought can he behold,
Till the brook's murmuring flow shall seem
The voice of friends of old.
4
Think no more of them, aged man,
For here thou hast no friend;
Think, since this life is but a span,
Of joys that have no end.
