 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
201
OLD TIMES.
TO JOHN T. CHESLEY, ESQ., OF LOWELL.
I dare say you remember, John,
Back twenty years and more,
When we were young and jolly, John,
On old Cocheco's shore;
When our paths were bright and fair, John,
And the hours most deftly sped,
With our hearts as free from care, John,
As the breezes round our head.
Back twenty years and more,
When we were young and jolly, John,
On old Cocheco's shore;
When our paths were bright and fair, John,
And the hours most deftly sped,
With our hearts as free from care, John,
As the breezes round our head.
And don't you sometimes see, John,
Full many a scene and face,
That memory, true to life, John,
Restores with pristine grace;
The smiles of old companions, John,
The music of their voice,
That through the damps of many years
Yet make your heart rejoice?
Full many a scene and face,
That memory, true to life, John,
Restores with pristine grace;
The smiles of old companions, John,
The music of their voice,
That through the damps of many years
Yet make your heart rejoice?
Dost ever roam in fancy, John,
Amid those dark old woods?
Dost ever lave in wantonness,
Within Cocheco's floods?
Dost hear the booming dam, John,
At evening, calm and still,
Or the dashing of the busy wheel
That turns the droning mill?
Amid those dark old woods?
Dost ever lave in wantonness,
Within Cocheco's floods?
202
At evening, calm and still,
Or the dashing of the busy wheel
That turns the droning mill?
Dost remember Log-Hill spring, John,
Whose waters were so sweet,
That poured its treasures lovingly
In crystal at our feet,
While the birds sang in the pines, John,
A sweet and mellow strain,
That older cars in after years
May never hear again?
Whose waters were so sweet,
That poured its treasures lovingly
In crystal at our feet,
While the birds sang in the pines, John,
A sweet and mellow strain,
That older cars in after years
May never hear again?
Ah, halcyon days were those, John,
Our lines how golden bright!
With not an ill to vex us, John,
And not a care to fright,
We laughed the hours away, John,
In unconcern of fate,
Nor saw how near the Boy's domain
Bordered on Man's estate.
Our lines how golden bright!
With not an ill to vex us, John,
And not a care to fright,
We laughed the hours away, John,
In unconcern of fate,
Nor saw how near the Boy's domain
Bordered on Man's estate.
I turn my eyes oft back, John,
And busy memory true,
In answer to my call, John,
Brings old scenes to my view;
I see myself among them, John,
So young and blithe and free,
Then view myself as time has made,—
I'm quite another me.
And busy memory true,
In answer to my call, John,
Brings old scenes to my view;
I see myself among them, John,
So young and blithe and free,
Then view myself as time has made,—
I'm quite another me.
203
I meet with old-time friends, John,
With whom we daily met,
Whose smiles endeared the passing hours,
But me they now forget;
They are gray and weary men, John,
Their cheerfulness all spent,
And, worldly given, grope through life,
In adding cent to cent.
With whom we daily met,
Whose smiles endeared the passing hours,
But me they now forget;
They are gray and weary men, John,
Their cheerfulness all spent,
And, worldly given, grope through life,
In adding cent to cent.
But there are true ones too, John,
That stick through weal and woe,
Whose friendship waits not fortune's breeze
A favoring gale to blow,
Whose generous hearts are ready, John,
To hold us in embrace,
Our names enrolled in letters there
That Time may not efface.
That stick through weal and woe,
Whose friendship waits not fortune's breeze
A favoring gale to blow,
Whose generous hearts are ready, John,
To hold us in embrace,
Our names enrolled in letters there
That Time may not efface.
Alas! the changing world, John;
Old scenes make way for new;
The builder's hand has closed our paths,
Or railroads run them through;
But let us thank our stars, John,
That active Fancy teems,
And what time's rubber may destroy
We may restore in dreams.
Old scenes make way for new;
The builder's hand has closed our paths,
Or railroads run them through;
But let us thank our stars, John,
That active Fancy teems,
And what time's rubber may destroy
We may restore in dreams.
| Rhymes with reason and without | |