 | Poems of Freneau |  |
319
TO AN OLD MAN
Why, dotard, wouldst thou longer groan
Beneath a weight of years and woe,
Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown,
And age proclaims, “'Tis time to go.”
Beneath a weight of years and woe,
Thy youth is lost, thy pleasures flown,
And age proclaims, “'Tis time to go.”
To willows sad and weeping yews
With us a while, old man, repair,
Nor to the vault thy steps refuse,
Thy constant home must soon be there.
With us a while, old man, repair,
Nor to the vault thy steps refuse,
Thy constant home must soon be there.
To summer suns and winter moons
Prepare to bid a long adieu,
Autumnal seasons shall return
And spring shall bloom, but not for you.
Prepare to bid a long adieu,
Autumnal seasons shall return
And spring shall bloom, but not for you.
Why so perplext with cares and toil
To rest upon this darksome road;
'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil,
A barren and a bleak abode.
To rest upon this darksome road;
'Tis but a thin, a thirsty soil,
A barren and a bleak abode.
Constrained to dwell with pain and care,
These dregs of life are bought too dear,
'Tis better far to die than bear
The torments of life's closing year.
These dregs of life are bought too dear,
'Tis better far to die than bear
The torments of life's closing year.
Subjected to perpetual ills
A thousand deaths around us grow:
The frost the tender blossom kills,
And roses wither as they blow.
A thousand deaths around us grow:
The frost the tender blossom kills,
And roses wither as they blow.
Cold nipping winds thy fruits assail,
The blasted apple seeks the ground,
The peaches fall, the cherries fail,
The grape receives a mortal wound.
The blasted apple seeks the ground,
The peaches fall, the cherries fail,
The grape receives a mortal wound.
320
The breeze that gently ought to blow,
Swells to a storm, and rends the main,
The sun that charmed the grass to grow
Turns hostile, and consumes the plain;
Swells to a storm, and rends the main,
The sun that charmed the grass to grow
Turns hostile, and consumes the plain;
The mountains waste, the shores decay,
Once purling streams are dead and dry—
'Twas Nature's work—'tis nature's play,
And Nature says, that all must die.
Once purling streams are dead and dry—
'Twas Nature's work—'tis nature's play,
And Nature says, that all must die.
Yon' flaming lamp, the source of light,
In chaos dark shall shroud his beam
And leave the world to mother Night,
A farce, a phantom, or a dream.
In chaos dark shall shroud his beam
And leave the world to mother Night,
A farce, a phantom, or a dream.
What now is young must soon be old,
Whate'er we love, we soon must leave
'Tis now too hot, 'tis now too cold—
To live, is nothing but to grieve.
Whate'er we love, we soon must leave
'Tis now too hot, 'tis now too cold—
To live, is nothing but to grieve.
How bright the morn her course begun,
No mists bedimmed the solar sphere—
The clouds arise—they shade the sun,
For nothing can be constant here.
No mists bedimmed the solar sphere—
The clouds arise—they shade the sun,
For nothing can be constant here.
Now hope the longing soul employs,
In expectation we are blest;
But soon the airy phantom flies,
For, lo! the treasure is possest.
In expectation we are blest;
But soon the airy phantom flies,
For, lo! the treasure is possest.
Those monarchs proud that havoc spread,
(While pensive reason dropt a tear)
Those monarchs have to darkness fled
And ruin bounds their mad career.
(While pensive reason dropt a tear)
Those monarchs have to darkness fled
And ruin bounds their mad career.
The grandeur of this earthly round,
Where folly would forever stay,
Is but a name, is but a sound—
Mere emptiness and vanity.
Where folly would forever stay,
Is but a name, is but a sound—
Mere emptiness and vanity.
321
Give me the stars, give me the skies,
Give me the heaven's remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise
Of desolation and despair.
Give me the heaven's remotest sphere,
Above these gloomy scenes to rise
Of desolation and despair.
Those native fires that warmed the mind,
Now languid grown too dimly glow,
Joy has to grief the heart resigned
And love itself is changed to woe.
Now languid grown too dimly glow,
Joy has to grief the heart resigned
And love itself is changed to woe.
The joys of wine are all you boast,
These, for a moment, damp thy pain;
The gleam is o'er, the charm is lost—
And darkness clouds the soul again.
These, for a moment, damp thy pain;
The gleam is o'er, the charm is lost—
And darkness clouds the soul again.
Then seek no more for bliss below,
Where real bliss can ne'er be found;
Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow
And fairer flowers bedeck the ground.
Where real bliss can ne'er be found;
Aspire where sweeter blossoms blow
And fairer flowers bedeck the ground.
Where plants of life the plains invest;
And green eternal crowns the year,
The little god, that warms the breast,
Is weary of his mansion here.
And green eternal crowns the year,
The little god, that warms the breast,
Is weary of his mansion here.
Like Phosphor, sent before the day,
His height meridian to regain,
The dawn arrives—he must not stay
To shiver on a frozen plain.
His height meridian to regain,
The dawn arrives—he must not stay
To shiver on a frozen plain.
Life's journey past, for fate prepare,—
'Tis but the freedom of the mind,
Jove made us mortal—his we are,
To Jove, be all our cares resigned.
'Tis but the freedom of the mind,
Jove made us mortal—his we are,
To Jove, be all our cares resigned.
1782
| Poems of Freneau | |