Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature By Charles Mackay |
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| XII. |
THE OLD MAN BY THE RIVER. |
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 | Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature |  |
167
THE OLD MAN BY THE RIVER.
I'm an old, old man, sad river;
I'm old and like to thee,
That pourest thy weary waters
To the all-engulfing sea;
And I dream on thy mournful margin
Of the darkening days to be.
I'm old and like to thee,
That pourest thy weary waters
To the all-engulfing sea;
And I dream on thy mournful margin
Of the darkening days to be.
Thou art deep, and wide, and wealthy;
And the laden ships come by,
With the wine, and the corn, and the ingots,
Their white sails flapping high;—
But thou'st had thy fill of treasure,
And scorn it—as do I.
And the laden ships come by,
With the wine, and the corn, and the ingots,
Their white sails flapping high;—
But thou'st had thy fill of treasure,
And scorn it—as do I.
168
There's an unknown world before us,
A cold and stormy gloom,
That shall gather us up, sad river,
In the darkness of our doom:
Thee in the deep, deep ocean,
Me in the yawning tomb.
A cold and stormy gloom,
That shall gather us up, sad river,
In the darkness of our doom:
Thee in the deep, deep ocean,
Me in the yawning tomb.
Let us dream of the past, O river!
And the joyous days of old,
When thou wert a brawling brooklet,
On the hill-side, and the wold;
And I was a laughing urchin,
With hair like the woven gold.
And the joyous days of old,
When thou wert a brawling brooklet,
On the hill-side, and the wold;
And I was a laughing urchin,
With hair like the woven gold.
When we were glad in the sunshine,
And stray'd by the birken bowers;
When we sang, and leap'd, and frolicked,
And played with the meadow flowers;
While the laughter of girls made music
In our morn and evening hours.
And stray'd by the birken bowers;
When we sang, and leap'd, and frolicked,
And played with the meadow flowers;
While the laughter of girls made music
In our morn and evening hours.
169
Ere away—far away—we hurried
To the world of strife and care,
To the melancholy pine-woods,
And heard in the upper air
The wail and the rush of tempests
That shook the forests bare.
To the world of strife and care,
To the melancholy pine-woods,
And heard in the upper air
The wail and the rush of tempests
That shook the forests bare.
Away to the roaring rapids,
All white with crested foam,
Impatient of obstruction—
Where vessel never clomb;—
Vagrant, and wild, and reckless,
Intolerant of home.
All white with crested foam,
Impatient of obstruction—
Where vessel never clomb;—
Vagrant, and wild, and reckless,
Intolerant of home.
In recklessness of vigour—
Exuberant in glee,
'T was vain for solid Wisdom
To preach to such as we,
That heeded not Experience,
And knew not of the sea.
Exuberant in glee,
'T was vain for solid Wisdom
To preach to such as we,
That heeded not Experience,
And knew not of the sea.
170
'T was vain to speak of quiet
To us who leaped and ran;
Who scorned to curb existence
By measurement and plan;
Who courted Toil and Peril,
And thought the world a span.
To us who leaped and ran;
Who scorned to curb existence
By measurement and plan;
Who courted Toil and Peril,
And thought the world a span.
On to the falls we hurried,
Exulting in our way,
And dashed o'er the chasms in thunder
Through the long, long night and day;
But ever in mid-day sunshine
With rainbows in our spray.
Exulting in our way,
And dashed o'er the chasms in thunder
Through the long, long night and day;
But ever in mid-day sunshine
With rainbows in our spray.
And thence we flowed, O river!
Through the rich and level ground,
Through the corn-fields and the meadows,
With a calm and rippling sound;
By the church upon the hill-top,
And the hamlets lying round.
Through the rich and level ground,
Through the corn-fields and the meadows,
With a calm and rippling sound;
By the church upon the hill-top,
And the hamlets lying round.
171
Unresting and impatient,
We thought of the wealthy shires;
Of the wharves and docks far distant—
Of the cupolas and spires;
And all the splendid city
That shone through our desires.
We thought of the wealthy shires;
Of the wharves and docks far distant—
Of the cupolas and spires;
And all the splendid city
That shone through our desires.
And thither we came, O river!
Thither we came at last,
And flowed with gentle current
By stores and granaries vast,
And heard the roar of people
And the chariots rushing past.
Thither we came at last,
And flowed with gentle current
By stores and granaries vast,
And heard the roar of people
And the chariots rushing past.
We bore upon our bosoms
The corn—the wine—the oil—
The tribute of the ocean,
And all the green earth's spoil:
Whatever men delight in,
For recompense of toil.
The corn—the wine—the oil—
The tribute of the ocean,
And all the green earth's spoil:
Whatever men delight in,
For recompense of toil.
172
But alas! for us, O river!
Flowing through paths unclean,
We lost the fairy freshness
Of the days that once had been—
The flowers of woodland meadows,
And the sky's blue depths serene.
Flowing through paths unclean,
We lost the fairy freshness
Of the days that once had been—
The flowers of woodland meadows,
And the sky's blue depths serene.
No more the blithe lark cheered us
A mile above his nest;
No more the milkmaid chanted
Of Love, and Love's unrest;
Or children gathered daisies
To float them on our breast.
A mile above his nest;
No more the milkmaid chanted
Of Love, and Love's unrest;
Or children gathered daisies
To float them on our breast.
And we strayed from the busy city
With all its weary gold,
In search of the health and pleasure
We lost in the days of old,
Ere the youthful heart was hardened,
And the fire of life was cold.
With all its weary gold,
In search of the health and pleasure
We lost in the days of old,
Ere the youthful heart was hardened,
And the fire of life was cold.
173
Never! oh never! never!
Shall Time these gifts restore;
For the salt, salt waters meet us,
Upflowing ever more—
From the deeps of the bitter ocean,
And the ever-widening shore!
Shall Time these gifts restore;
For the salt, salt waters meet us,
Upflowing ever more—
From the deeps of the bitter ocean,
And the ever-widening shore!
I stand on the mournful margin,
And hear what the deep Sea saith.
There are storm and cloud above it,
And a low, long, wailing breath:—
'Tis for thee and for me, O river,
And it calleth us down to Death!
And hear what the deep Sea saith.
There are storm and cloud above it,
And a low, long, wailing breath:—
'Tis for thee and for me, O river,
And it calleth us down to Death!
| Studies from the Antique and Sketches from Nature | |