 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S STORY
“Where hast thou been, thou grey-beard Time,
For this full many a year;
Art thou not tired, thou stiff old man,
With running far and near?”
For this full many a year;
Art thou not tired, thou stiff old man,
With running far and near?”
403
He leaned upon his rusty scythe,
And shook his hour-glass sands,
And pointed to his worn-out shoes,
And to his sun-browned hands;
And shook his hour-glass sands,
And pointed to his worn-out shoes,
And to his sun-browned hands;
“Lord bless you, master, no,” said he,
“I've been upon the go—
I've lost my reckoning—but about
Six thousand years or so;
“I've been upon the go—
I've lost my reckoning—but about
Six thousand years or so;
“And what with mowing this and that,
And weeding here and there,
If I should tell you all I've done,
Perhaps 't would make you stare.
And weeding here and there,
If I should tell you all I've done,
Perhaps 't would make you stare.
“I visit cities now and then,
And dig beneath their walls,
And owls and bats, and snakes and rats
Are nestling in their halls.
And dig beneath their walls,
And owls and bats, and snakes and rats
Are nestling in their halls.
“I saw the conqueror when he came
Fresh from the crimsoned plain;
The rabble rout I heard them shout,
Says I, ‘I'll call again.’
Fresh from the crimsoned plain;
The rabble rout I heard them shout,
Says I, ‘I'll call again.’
“I'm something of a wag, and so
When all had past away
I groped about among the weeds
To where the warrior lay.
When all had past away
I groped about among the weeds
To where the warrior lay.
“With bony finger, in the dust,
That crusted on the tomb,
I wrote—‘young gemman, I can write—
THIS IS THE HERO'S DOOM.’
That crusted on the tomb,
I wrote—‘young gemman, I can write—
THIS IS THE HERO'S DOOM.’
“They were big fellows, them that lived
Five thousand years ago;
'T would take six dozen men like you
To make one's little toe.
Five thousand years ago;
'T would take six dozen men like you
To make one's little toe.
“It used to be tough mowing then;
But now you've got so small
I only crack you up like fleas
And never mow at all.
But now you've got so small
I only crack you up like fleas
And never mow at all.
“But, oh, the women plague me so!
I'm sure I cant tell how;
But they have posed me ever since
I set to work till now.
I'm sure I cant tell how;
But they have posed me ever since
I set to work till now.
“As fast as I can pull them down,
So fast again they build;
As fast as I can tear away,
So fast the place is filled.
So fast again they build;
As fast as I can tear away,
So fast the place is filled.
“There's Azurina's yellow locks,
I've worked from day to day,
With all my pains, to save my soul,
I could not turn them gray.
I've worked from day to day,
With all my pains, to save my soul,
I could not turn them gray.
“I've bent the stubborn forest oak,
That stood against the storm,
But tried in vain, these forty years,
To crook Flirtilla's form.
That stood against the storm,
But tried in vain, these forty years,
To crook Flirtilla's form.
“They cheat the whale, they chouse the dead,
They go from sea to skies,
They catch the May-dew from the cloud,
And gouge the oyster's eyes.
They go from sea to skies,
They catch the May-dew from the cloud,
And gouge the oyster's eyes.
“I make a bonfire now and then,
And light it with a puff;
Old songs, old stories, old reviews,
And all that sort of stuff.
And light it with a puff;
Old songs, old stories, old reviews,
And all that sort of stuff.
“Poor—goes to Helicon,
To fill his brazen cup,
It's dreadful milk-and-water like,
But I shall drink it up.
To fill his brazen cup,
It's dreadful milk-and-water like,
But I shall drink it up.
“Where's that there magazine, d'ye think,
That people lately read?
I swallowed that—verse, prose, and all,
The feathers and the lead.
That people lately read?
I swallowed that—verse, prose, and all,
The feathers and the lead.
“I've tried my styptics long enough—
This scribbling is no crime,
It's nothing but a new disease—
Incontinence of rhyme.
This scribbling is no crime,
It's nothing but a new disease—
Incontinence of rhyme.
“Whatever food the victims take,
They can not hold it long,
Murder and marriage, birth and death,
All dribble out in song.
They can not hold it long,
Murder and marriage, birth and death,
All dribble out in song.
“Young man, I have some jobs to do,
And must be going now”—
He raised his meagre hand and wrote
A wrinkle on my brow.
And must be going now”—
He raised his meagre hand and wrote
A wrinkle on my brow.
“There, take my card, I always leave
Them tokens when I call,
I've known you, master, many a year
For all you look so small.”
Them tokens when I call,
I've known you, master, many a year
For all you look so small.”
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |