Minor Poems, including Napoleon :: :: University of Virginia Library

Twelve months compose each fleeting year;
And, unto those who rightly scan,
Twelve brief compartments may appear
Compris'd in life's accustom'd span:
Nor need it be a waste of time
To trace this parallel in rhyme.

II

The first six years of human life
Like the year's opening month are found;
Commenc'd in being's natal strife,
With little obvious produce crown'd;
For when six years their course have run,
Existence scarcely is begun.

198

III

'Twas thus, we find, in Mirzah's dream,
That bridge which human life portray'd
Was veil'd from sight at each extreme
As by impenetrable shade;
And only what the Genius told
Could its beginning—end, unfold.

IV

The next six years of life lead on
To boyhood's hopes, and boyhood's fears:
And February, ere 'tis gone,
An emblem of this age appears:
No fruit we find, no lasting flowers,
But mind begins to feel its powers.

V

As outward nature now prepares
For finite man the face of earth,
And length'ning day to sight declares
The laughing Spring's approaching birth;
So does the glance of boyhood's eye
Betoken youth is drawing nigh.

199

VI

March follows next; the voice of song
Is heard, and gardens brightly bloom;
Though stormy winds may sweep along,
Their sound inspires no moody gloom;
Though clouds, at times, perchance may lower,
We look beyond the present hour!

VII

And thus does youth, with eye elate,
At blithe eighteen existence view;
Nor stormy winds, nor clouds abate
The wild bird's music, flow'ret's hue:
Life is to him a waking vision,
And earth a paradise Elysian.

VIII

Now April lavishly unfolds
The violet's bloom, the chesnut's flowers;
And, amid weeping clouds, beholds,
With smiling eye, her verdant bowers;
And, ere she bids those bowers “farewell!”
Woos Love to bless them with his spell.

200

IX

Now too the youth to manhood grown,
From fond eighteen to twenty-four,
Thinks time mis-spent, if spent alone,
Or flies to solitude the more,
As ardent and romantic love
A source of pain or bliss may prove.

X

Then May comes on! delightful May!
Dispensing, ere she bid adieu,
More genial airs, and skies more gay,
Than waken'd April's changeful hue:
The days have nearly reach'd their length,
And beauty its more lusty strength.

XI

Man too, at thirty, may be found,
For intellectual powers at least,
In his best prime, with vigour crown'd,
His earlier ardours scarce decreas'd,
Although he may not now enjoy
Much that gave pleasure to the boy.

201

XII

In June some earlier fruits have caught
Their ripen'd glory from the sun;
And other joys to sense are brought
Than can from sight alone be won;
Beauty with usefulness combines,
And from such union brighter shines.

XIII

And thus, when man is thirty-six,
Some ripening fruits of sager reason
Should with life's lingering blossoms mix,
To dignify that prouder season;
Nor should we then, in friendship, choose
The man who only could amuse!

XIV

The sultry noontide of July
Next bids us seek the forest's shade;
Or for the crystal streamlet sigh,
That flows in some sequester'd glade:
Sated with sunshine and with flowers,
We learn that life has languid hours.

202

XV

And he who lives to forty-two,
Nor has this needful truth been taught,
That calm retirement must renew,
From time to time, the springs of thought,
Or who would such renewal shun,
Is, by his folly, half undone!

XVI

'Tis not enough to say, “We know,
As yet, no chilling, wintry blight;”
For noontide's fierce, unshaded glow
May wither, when it beams most bright;
He that hopes evening's tranquil smile,
Must in his zenith pause awhile!

XVII

The husbandmen in August reap
The produce of their labours past;
Or, if the ling'ring season keep
Their recompense delay'd, will cast
A frequent glance around, and try
To guess what harvest may supply.

203

XVIII

Thus too should man, at forty-eight,
Turn inward to a harvest there;
His mental crops should calculate,
And for their gath'ring-in prepare;
'Tis prudent to look round, and see
What such a harvest-home may be!

XIX

September's morn and eve are chill,
Reminding us that time rolls on;
And Winter, though delaying still
His wither'd features, wo-begone,
On day's decreasing length encroaching,
Gives token of his sure approaching.

XX

And let not man at fifty-four,
Though, like September's noon, he may,
At times, be cloudless as of yore,
O'erlook its dawning, closing day;
But by the length'ning nights be taught
Increasing seriousness of thought!

204

XXI

The sere leaf, flitting on the blast,
The hips and haws in every hedge,
Bespeak October come! At last
We stand on Winter's crumbling edge;
Like Nature's opening grave, we eye
The two brief months not yet gone by.

XXII

And he who has attain'd three-score,
Should bear in mind that sere old age
Must, in a few years, less or more,
Conclude his mortal pilgrimage;
And seek to stand aloof from all
That meditation might enthral.

XXIII

November's clouds are gathering round,
Dispensing darker, deeper gloom;
And Nature, as with awe profound,
Waits her irrevocable doom;
Watching the pale sun's fitful gleam
Through the dense fogs that veil his beam.

205

XXIV

And thus, in human life's November,
When sixty years and six are by,
'Tis time that man should oft remember
“The hour approaches he must die!”
True, he may linger to four-score,
But death is waiting at the door!

XXV

December closes on the scene;
And what appear the months gone past?
Fragments of time, which once have been!
Succeeding slowly, fled too fast!
Their minutes, hours, and days appear
Viewless in that small point, a year!

XXVI

The man, too, with the year has fled,
Three-score and twelve pronounc'd his doom;
As nature's beauties now seem dead,
His relics rest within the tomb;
Yet both a future life shall see;
His—prove an Immortality!