University of Virginia Library


201

TO JOHN.

“Speak, Ancient House, oh, think'st thou yet thereon?”
German Student-Song.

Once more, old friend!—'tis many a day
Since thus beside me thou didst stand—
For I have been a weary way
Since last I took thy hand;
And journeyed far, yet never known
A face more friendly than thine own.
By the tombstone of Memory
We'll sit, as we were wont to do,
And trace, like Old Mortality,
Each fading line anew.
Canst thou remember all our merry ways,
That now are dead and gone?
Methinks it was right pleasant in those days,
My dear old crony, John!
Once more together we will drink
In mournful jollity,
To vanished gladness,—yet, I think,
Thy glass with mine did ever clink
Right merrily!

202

Aye, many a night, our vigil keeping far,
We two did revel, answering cup for cup,
Meanwhile the Meerschaum, or mild-wreathed cigar
Curled sweetest incense up.
Through the long night together how we read
Old famous books—and pledged those wondrous men,
Whose words yet thrill, like Voices from the Dead
Come down to earth agen.
Or pored upon the quaint and marvellous scrolls
Of dreamy alchemist—or read the tales
Of ancient travellers, and those brave souls,
That spread their venturous sails
For unknown lands—and sought some deep recess,
Some old primeval forest, dark and green,
Or waved farewell across the wilderness—
And never more were seen.
What simple fare, what modest, cheap libation
Could then content us—Ah! what merry quips—
What genial thought—what apt, inspired quotation
Sprang freely to our lips.
At such high tide we pondered, argued deep
Of Life, of Destiny, of Thought profound—
Until like drowsy Wanderers, half asleep
On the Enchanted Ground.

203

And when I read thee once a marvellous
Old tale in verse, (it was thyself that bid,)
Yet somewhat of the longest—Morpheus,
Foul fall him—closed each lid.
Thy lubbard head upon its shoulder fell—
But I forgive thee—those were pleasant nights,
Noctes, Cœnæque! ours, thou knowest well,
No rude or Scythian rites.
But the wine had a perfume that is gone,
A sparkle bright it will not have again—
Methinks thine eye was all the brighter, John,
Yet not more friendly, then.
Still let us mingle, with a mournful pleasure,
Hearts that not yet are touched by worldly frost,
And brood, like misers, o'er our buried treasure—
Deep buried, yet not lost.
In cheerful sadness—yet, when we remember
How they are gone, who sat beside each hearth,
Two ghosts, carousing in some ruined chamber,
Could share no drearier mirth.