 | Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight |  |
47
XXXVIII. IN THE LIBRARY.
I spend my days among the immortal dead,
For ever young,—for ever fresh and free;
I walk with Shakspeare's light upon my head,
Or sit with Byron by the stormy sea;
I see with Homer's eyes the days of old,
Or trace with Gibbon's lightning-feathered pen
An Empire's fall; and wonder, as I'm told,
If mightier Britain, lacking mighty men,
Shall sink like Rome into the depths forlorn
And leave no Empire to her after-born,
Because her manhood rotted to decay;
And sighing, hope, “Far distant be the day!”
For ever young,—for ever fresh and free;
I walk with Shakspeare's light upon my head,
Or sit with Byron by the stormy sea;
I see with Homer's eyes the days of old,
Or trace with Gibbon's lightning-feathered pen
An Empire's fall; and wonder, as I'm told,
If mightier Britain, lacking mighty men,
Shall sink like Rome into the depths forlorn
And leave no Empire to her after-born,
Because her manhood rotted to decay;
And sighing, hope, “Far distant be the day!”
The frivolous living talk not with my soul,
I weary of their senseless jest and jeer,
And strive to keep within a calm control
My scorn and sorrow for the insincere;
And if I fail a while, I strive to dip
My spirit in the Ocean of old Time,
My happy Books,—where, sailing like a ship,
I visit, conquering, every shore and clime!
I'm lonely in the crowd; amid my tomes
I have the choice of rich ancestral homes,
Where I can dwell with an exultant mind
Pleased with myself, at peace with all mankind.
I weary of their senseless jest and jeer,
And strive to keep within a calm control
My scorn and sorrow for the insincere;
And if I fail a while, I strive to dip
My spirit in the Ocean of old Time,
My happy Books,—where, sailing like a ship,
I visit, conquering, every shore and clime!
48
I have the choice of rich ancestral homes,
Where I can dwell with an exultant mind
Pleased with myself, at peace with all mankind.
| Interludes and Undertones, or, Music at Twilight | |