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127
TO THE NURSERY.
Thou scene of infant joys and transient woe!
Once more I tread thee, where I stood, a boy;
And, spite of years gone by, I feel a glow
Which for a moment grief cannot destroy.
Once more I tread thee, where I stood, a boy;
And, spite of years gone by, I feel a glow
Which for a moment grief cannot destroy.
Once more upon my heart, and in my ear,
The joyous, laughing, silvery voices come;
The young, the thoughtless, to each other dear,
And all the blest realities of home.
The joyous, laughing, silvery voices come;
The young, the thoughtless, to each other dear,
And all the blest realities of home.
But soon, alas! the gladsome visions fly,
I feel, I feel, that now I stand alone;
And, bursting from my heart, a deep-drawn sigh
Invokes the silence for an answering tone.
I feel, I feel, that now I stand alone;
And, bursting from my heart, a deep-drawn sigh
Invokes the silence for an answering tone.
Deserted spot! those sad and dreary walls
But echo now the slow and sorrowing tread
Of some young mournful one, whose footstep falls
Pausingly, as he muses on the dead.
But echo now the slow and sorrowing tread
Of some young mournful one, whose footstep falls
Pausingly, as he muses on the dead.
128
Cold whistling o'er the black and cheerless grate,
The moaning wind alone is heard aloud,
Making the silence yet more desolate,
Where once gay voices raised a cheerful sound.
The moaning wind alone is heard aloud,
Making the silence yet more desolate,
Where once gay voices raised a cheerful sound.
No busy finger now with figures quaint
Adorns the falling paper of the room;
No youthful artist's brightly-coloured paint
Relieves the dark and shadowy walls from gloom.
Adorns the falling paper of the room;
No youthful artist's brightly-coloured paint
Relieves the dark and shadowy walls from gloom.
No—they are gone! each on his separate road!
Their days of happy infancy are o'er;
And one hath sought the long and last abode
Where sorrow harms and sin can blight no more.
Their days of happy infancy are o'er;
And one hath sought the long and last abode
Where sorrow harms and sin can blight no more.
Yes—they are gone! the beautiful—the young—
To roam the stranger land or stormy wave;
The happiest now of that once blissful throng,
He who is sleeping in the quiet grave!
To roam the stranger land or stormy wave;
The happiest now of that once blissful throng,
He who is sleeping in the quiet grave!
And the remainder—they may meet again—
Again may hearts and hands in love be twined—
But never more so free from guilt and pain
As when they parted, leaving home behind.
Again may hearts and hands in love be twined—
But never more so free from guilt and pain
As when they parted, leaving home behind.
Such is man's fate—so, for a little hour,
Together the young flowers may bud and blow—
Till Time's rude hand, and death's remorseless power,
Scatter the shrubs, and lay the blossoms low!
Together the young flowers may bud and blow—
Till Time's rude hand, and death's remorseless power,
Scatter the shrubs, and lay the blossoms low!
129
Then wherefore mourn when days and months are fled?
Why wish a life of bitterness to last?
Since every year that flits above our head
But adds a link of sorrow to the past!
Why wish a life of bitterness to last?
Since every year that flits above our head
But adds a link of sorrow to the past!
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