 | The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry |  |
221
THE OLD MAN.
Why gaze ye on my hoary hair,
Ye children, young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of care,
Will bleach as white as they.
Ye children, young and gay?
Your locks, beneath the blast of care,
Will bleach as white as they.
I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.
Who o'er my pillow hung,
Kiss'd from my cheek the briny dew,
And taught my faltering tongue.
She, when the nightly couch was spread,
Would bow my infant knee,
And lay her soft hand on my head,
And bending, pray for me.
Would bow my infant knee,
And lay her soft hand on my head,
And bending, pray for me.
But then, there came a fearful day,
I sought my mother's bed;
Harsh voices warn'd me thence away,
And told me she was dead.
I sought my mother's bed;
Harsh voices warn'd me thence away,
And told me she was dead.
I pluck'd a fair white rose, and stole
To lay it by her side;
Yet, ah, strange sleep enchained her soul,
For no fond voice replied,
To lay it by her side;
Yet, ah, strange sleep enchained her soul,
For no fond voice replied,
That eve I knelt me down in wo,
To say a lonely prayer;
And still my temples seem'd to glow,
As if that hand was there.
To say a lonely prayer;
And still my temples seem'd to glow,
As if that hand was there.
222
Years fled, and left me childhood's joy
Gay sports, and pastimes dear;
I rose a wild and wayward boy,
Who scorned the curb of fear.
Gay sports, and pastimes dear;
I rose a wild and wayward boy,
Who scorned the curb of fear.
Fierce passions shook me like a reed;
But ere, at night, I slept,
That soft hand made my bosom bleed,
And down I fell, and wept.
But ere, at night, I slept,
That soft hand made my bosom bleed,
And down I fell, and wept.
Youth came—the props of virtue reel'd:
Yet still, at day's decline,
A marble touch my brow congeal'd—
Blest mother, was it thine?
Yet still, at day's decline,
A marble touch my brow congeal'd—
Blest mother, was it thine?
In foreign lands I travell'd wide,
My full pulse bounding high:
Vice spread her meshes at my side,
And pleasure lured my eye.—
My full pulse bounding high:
Vice spread her meshes at my side,
And pleasure lured my eye.—
Even then, that hand, so soft and cold.
Maintain'd its mystic sway,
As when amid my curls of gold
With gentle force it lay;
Maintain'd its mystic sway,
As when amid my curls of gold
With gentle force it lay;
And with it sighed a voice of care,
As from the lowly sod,
“My son, my only one, beware!
Sin not against thy God.”
As from the lowly sod,
“My son, my only one, beware!
Sin not against thy God.”
Ye think, perchance, that age hath stole
My kindly warmth away,
And dimm'd the tablet of the soul;
Yet when with lordly sway,
My kindly warmth away,
223
Yet when with lordly sway,
This brow the plumed helm display'd
That awes the warrior throng,
Or beauty's thrilling fingers stray'd
These manly locks among,
That awes the warrior throng,
Or beauty's thrilling fingers stray'd
These manly locks among,
That hallow'd touch was ne'er forgot;
And now, though time hath set
His seal of frost that melteth not,
My temples feel it yet.
And now, though time hath set
His seal of frost that melteth not,
My temples feel it yet.
And if I e'er in heaven appear,
A mother's holy prayer—
A mother's hand, and tender tear,
Still pointing to a Saviour dear,
Have led the wanderer there.
A mother's holy prayer—
A mother's hand, and tender tear,
Still pointing to a Saviour dear,
Have led the wanderer there.
| The girl's reading-book ; in prose and poetry | |