University of Virginia Library

On his journey Youth doth start,
Strong of limb and stout of heart;
And he thinketh Life must be
An unbroken jubilee.
He doth find full proof of this
In the summer's frolic bliss,—
And from roughest winter weather
Strong conviction he doth gather;
While the World, with ample store
Of its fair, false-smiling lore,
Doth convince him more and more.
So he singeth—“Oh that thou,
Merry Life, wouldst last for ever!
Oh, that strength were given me now
To enchain Time's rushing river,—
Bind it fast from shore to shore,
For evermore—for evermore!”
Let the bell toll!

Manhood, with an eager eye
Lit with passioned ecstasy,
Sitteth at the banquet board
With Life's richest dainties stored.
Viands, exquisite and rare,
Wines, bright sparkling past compare,
Pomp and splendour—all are there;
And around that board are seen
Radiant face and lovely mien;
There are smiles that make the light
Sunnier in its own despite;
There are voices that pour round
Music in soft waves of sound:
And from all this syren pleasure
Manhood reapeth his full measure,—
Tasteth each new luxury,
Draineth oft the wine-cup dry;
And the while his spirit owns
Witchery in Love's dulcet tones,
And the while he boldly sips
Burning kisses from ripe lips,
He doth inly murmur,—still
Shutting out each thought of ill
As aforetime—“Oh, that thou
Merry Life, wouldst last for ever!
Oh, that strength were given me now
To enchain Time's rushing river,—
Bind it fast from shore to shore,
For evermore—for evermore!”
Let the bell toll!

Manhood,—the hath left the feast,
In a feverish unrest:—
With pale cheek and sunken eye,
He doth wander moodily
In the meadow paths and through
The brown corn-sheaves, wet with dew.
Moodily he wandereth there;
For a thought of drear despair
Doth possess him—he doth see
That Life's joy is vanity:
He doth see that over all
Syren pleasure's festiveal
There is spread the burial pall;—
That amid the glittering rout
Spectral terrors flit about;—
Ruin in the revelry,
After-shriekings in the glee,
Poison in the wine,—and death
In proud beauty's perfumed breath:
He doth see the doom, the snare,
But the aid, the refuge—where?
So, he museth mournfully
Under the sweet summer sky,
In the orchard crofts and through
The brown corn-sheaves wet with dew.
And, albeit the bird doth sing
Like a very blessëd thing,
And the flowers do all declare
“Earth is very good and fair”—
Not a single smile doth roll
Back the cloud-veil from his soul;
And his lips, compressed and pale,
Ope but with a muttered wail,—
Heedless of that song of yore
That such constant burden bore,
“For evermore—for evermore!”
Let the bells chime!

On the hill-top, worn and grey,
Lieth Age:—a pleasant ray
From the setting sun doth grace
The deep furrows of his face.
God be blessëd! he hath won
Life's great victory—wending on,
Through the dreamings proud and bold,
Through the passions manifold,
Through the subtle hopes and fears
Of the stormy later years,
To the Truth, that in his soul
Holdeth now its high control,
Guiding onward to the goal.
God be blessëd! he doth lie
On the hill-top neath the sky;
And no earth-mists intervene
Betwixt him and the blue serene,
Shining soft in starry sheen.
“God be blessëd!” he doth say,
With a loving smile alway,—
“That Life lasteth not for ever—
That no mortal strength can stay
The swift tide of Time's dark river!
It doth bear me fast away
From the dolour and the sting
Of the present suffering,
Onward to the joy divine
And the rest that shall be mine!”—
“And sweet voices seem to sing,
Sounding from some far-off shore,
For evermore—for evermore!”
Let the bells chime!