Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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TIMESGLASS. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
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TIMESGLASS.
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Maiden with the sunny Brow,And the starry Eye of blue,
Tell me truly dost thou know
Who it is that stands by you?
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When these charms of Form and FaceWithered all like Mayblooms lie,
Hast thou to supply their place
Treasures laid up for the sky?
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Hast thou higher Beauty whichTime and sere Decay touch not,
That can make thee truly rich
Tho' stern Want should be thy lot?
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As the Years pass o'er thy Brow,And imprint their Wrinkles there,
In the deep Heart far below
Seek thou that which shall not wear.
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Thou that like a fragile FlowerSeem'st but destined for the Sun,
Know that by the passing hour
The future web of Life is spun.
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If then it be wove awry,It will give thee pain and care,
Toil and trouble to untie
The knots which Folly's hand made there!
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Thus spake an old, old, grayhaired ManWith something of solemnity,
Yet an halfsmile, if close you'd scan,
Lurked in his shrewd, grey, twinkling Eye.
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Then held he up unto her faceA glass which in his hand he bore,
And said, «what do'st thou, Maiden, trace,
Saw'st thou e'er the like before?
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She gazed into the glass with pride,Her cheek was flushed, her Eye did beam,
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Halfpettish! yet wellpleased did seem.
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He held up next an hourglass,And said, «these little grains which sink
Thus noiselessly, will bring to pass
Strange things that neither of us think,
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And they will make us too, I hope,Betteracquainted than just now,
Tho' paltry seems their scanty scope,
They do much, for no rest they know.
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Make sure of them, they show like Sand,But they are worth far more than Gold,
Oh! let them not slip thro' thy Hand:
Their full worth thou wilt know when old!
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Tho' small their Size, they make the Day,Yea! and the bulk of each big Year,
And if you cast them once away
They leave an awkward Gap I fear.
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The Maiden at the HourglassLook'd not, but in the Mirror took
Another peep ere he did pass
Away, and his grey Head he shook.
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Years had rolled on, and once againThe oldman by the Maiden stood,
He found her, as he left her, vain,
«Tomorrow and Tomorrow» was her mood!
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He showed her in the glass that faceWhich Time had altered visibly,
Yet still retained the former grace,
Which pleased the undiscerning Eye.
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Complacently she looked on it,Yet many Tokens pained her there,
And chagrined, half her lip she bit,
Then turned about with angry Air,
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Begone, old Dotard! who are you?I know you not, your toil is vain:
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I leave you, but to call again!
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That you do know me not is clear,The more the Pity 'tis for you,
For they who learn to know me here
Too late, their fault are sure to rue.
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The years flew on, and pitylessThey furrowed over that smooth brow,
And hateful grey mixed with each tress,
Yet left the heart unchanged below.
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The Hive was empty, and its bees,Wing'd moments, who should fill the cells,
Were few, and Autumn's breath did freeze
The flowers where the best Juice swells.
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Again by her he took his stand,He showed his glass, she turned away,
Then shattered with an angry hand
The too true Image of decay.
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He showed the hourglass once more,The grains were running very low,
«Take heed, before thy soul to God
With these dread Witnesses shall go,
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They are unbribeable», he said,Then left her on his words to muse,
But Truth, when Vanity's not dead,
Can Folly's eyes scarce disabuse.
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Fix'd habit still the sceptre grasps,And passions their old nurture crave,
And Age's skinny hand unclasps
Its bauble only in the grave.
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Once more he stood beside her; onA sickbed pale and worn she lay,
«Dost thou now know the erst unknown,»
He said, the worms demand this clay,
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And Heaven thy soul, such as it is!»She gave a look of shuddering fear,
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Moment with Death I feel thee here!
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But a short while ago I wasTime limited and brief, said He,
But onward now with thee I pass,
Not Time, but all Eternity!
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And just as these words reached her ear,The last sandgrain of all had run,
Earth claims that which remaineth here,
For this, said He, she lived alone!
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Mortals take heed, this tale is ours,And while we criticize and laugh,
Look to it, lest these same swift hours
Winnow not grain, but empty chaff.
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |